Lady of the Two Lands

by Elizabeth Delisi

  “By the gods, I have missed your laugh,” he said, staring down into her face with a strange expression she couldn’t quite decipher. “I have realized something else these days past. If you are not Hatshepsut, then I can touch you. I can hold you. I can love you.”

  She held her breath for a moment before she let it out on a soft sigh. “Aye,” she whispered. “And I can love you, too, Senemut. I do love you.”

  A small eternity passed, a moment frozen in time, as she stared up at him. Then Senemut pulled her even closer, one arm around her waist, the other hand cupping the back of her head. “My love,” he breathed, then slanted his lips down over hers.

  Fire leapt through Hattie’s veins as she returned his kiss, feeling a passion she hadn’t known she possessed. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her knees suddenly weak and trembling. He lifted her easily and carried her to the bed. As his body covered hers, a surge of delight shot through her, which was instantly replaced by a deeper, more intense feeling than she had ever experienced. It was a sense of rightness, of…of maat. All was well with the world, and she was where she belonged: in Senemut’s arms.

  CHAPTER 20

  “Hattie?”

  “Hmm?” Hattie raised her head sleepily from Senemut’s chest and opened one eye.

  “We must talk.”

  She closed her eye. “Later, after we sleep.” She nestled close again and pressed a kiss onto his collarbone.

  “You should marry again.”

  Hattie sat bolt upright. “Senemut! Is that a marriage proposal? If it is, the answer is aye. Aye!”

  Senemut sighed and toyed with one of her red-gold braids. “Nay. I fear I cannot marry you, as much as I would wish it. We must find another—mayhap a foreign prince—for you to marry. Someone who will not lust after the throne himself.”

  Hattie’s jaw dropped and she glared at him. “That is preposterous! Surely you know I will never marry another? You are the only one in my heart.”

  “As you are in mine,” he said, caressing her cheek. “But I am not of noble birth, and thus I am not suitable to be your husband. We cannot reveal to anyone that you are not the real Hatshepsut, so your husband’s background must be beyond question.”

  “What do you mean, you are not suitable? You are entirely suitable! I think I am capable of making that decision… especially after last night.” She grinned.

  Senemut’s face remained stubbornly serious. “I am not of noble birth. A marriage between us would never be accepted by the priests, the nobles, or the people. We have stretched their credibility to put you on the throne. They will not accept a commoner married to a female pharaoh.”

  “Blast the people!” she cried, throwing her hands up in the air. “I care not what they will accept. I refuse to marry another. It would be a sacrilege to do so, for your love is sacred to me. You are the only one I will ever love.”

  “And you are my only love,” he repeated patiently. “But think, Hattie—what if there is a child?”

  Hattie gasped. The issue of birth control had totally escaped her last night, and even had it not, there were no conveniently-situated pharmacies in this time and place. For all she knew, she was carrying Senemut’s child at this moment. “I had not thought of that,” she confessed. “But, Senemut, I would be delighted to bear your children, whether we can marry or not.” She firmly pushed away the thought of giving birth in this medically primitive, germ-ridden era. She would cross that bridge when she came to it.

  “Nay, my love, you cannot bear my children unless you are married. That is why we must find you a husband.”

  “How can you expect me to marry a man I do not love? It would not be fair to him. It would not be fair to me! And to expect him to claim your children as his own, and raise them…Senemut, that is too much to ask. Nay, I will not do it. If I cannot marry you, then I will not marry at all.”

  Senemut sighed. “Then we must be sure there are no children. I will have my private physician prepare the necessary items, and you must use them every time we…each time we are together.”

  “Of course I will,” she agreed, silently amending, If they aren’t too unpleasant. She had seen physicians use remedies that contained bull’s urine, crocodile dung, and other nasty ingredients, and she had no intention of coming within shouting distance of one of those.

  “And,” he continued relentlessly, “we must make sure there is no child now.”

  “What do you mean?” Suspicion suddenly coiled around her heart like a vise.

  “I will have my physician make up an elixir that will cause you to lose the baby, should there be one.” He winced as he spoke the words, and a spasm of grief passed over his face.

  “Nay, Senemut!” she cried. “If I carry your child now, I will not lose it. I will not!” She burst into tears. How could he ask such a thing of her? Her heart throbbed painfully and felt like it would break. She had never craved a child, but suddenly she wanted a child of Senemut’s, yearned for it with every fiber of her being.

  He gathered her in his arms. “It is hard, I know, little one,” he said, stroking her back and her hair. “The will of the gods is hard. But I fear it must be so.”

  “Nay, I will not,” she sobbed. “I will not. If I bear your child, then I will raise it—and the gods be damned!”

  “Hush, now. You must not affront the gods, for their vengeance is swift. We shall wait a little, shall we? Mayhap it will not be necessary after all. Let us wait and see if there is a child.”

  She sniffled and nodded against his chest. “Aye. We will wait.” But if I carry your child, I will find a way to keep it, she vowed silently. I will not throw away the best thing that has happened to me, gods or no gods.

  Fortunately for Hattie, there was no child. But she felt little relief, for there was an empty place in her heart that would have been filled by Senemut’s babies, and now would always be barren and lonely. Why had she traveled to this accursed century? Surely, not just to have her heart broken. Hatshepsut’s directives to her about protecting Tuthmosis and uncovering the traitors seemed distant and unimportant compared to her overwhelming grief.

  Senemut tried to cheer her, but there was little he could do. The only ray of sunshine in her life was little Neferure. Now that Hattie dared not bear children of her own, she expended all the maternal love she had on the child, who returned it tenfold. In time, Neferure’s unreserved cheerfulness and devotion healed the wound, and Hattie’s naturally buoyant spirit returned. She would always carry a scar, but at least she had one child to lavish her attention upon.

  Senemut came to her one night a few weeks later, bearing the contraceptive devices his physician had fashioned, carefully secreted in a small alabaster box.

  “What are they made of?” She eyed the damp, gray wads of unidentifiable material suspiciously.

  “They are wool, moistened with honey, and mixed with ground acacia and dates,” he explained. “Nothing more.”

  “Nothing more? Are you certain?” She lifted one out of the box and sniffed it cautiously. There was no telltale odor of dung or other disagreeable ingredients. “And what am I to do with this…this sticky thing? Swallow it?”

  Senemut burst into laughter. “Nay, right before we…you must take it and place it in your…hai, never mind. I will show you.” He caught her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

  Hattie giggled. “Please do.”

  “It is good to hear you laugh again!” Senemut exclaimed. “You have been so distraught these past few weeks, and it has pierced my heart like a dagger. I am glad to see joy returning to your face.” He smiled down at her, his face full of tenderness and love.

  She reached up and stroked his cheek. “I cannot be unhappy for long when I am in your presence.”

  “Oh, is that true? Well, then, let me demonstrate for you how this device works.” He grinned.

  “Aye, Senemut. Show me,” she murmured.

  * * *

  The next morning, Hattie felt well rested and
more cheerful than she had in weeks. “What shall we do today?” she asked Senemut, as she slipped into her gown.

  “Today, we must plan the first accomplishment of your reign,” he answered. “A military campaign, I think. Mayhap against Canaan? They have not felt the wrath of Egypt’s sword for many a season.”

  “A campaign? Nay. Definitely not.” She shuddered. “I will not send men to their death again.”

  “But Pharaoh Maatkare Khenmet-Amun Hatshepsut must prove his strength,” he protested. “Else the vassal states will take it as a sign of weakness, and rebel.”

  “There are other ways to prove that Egypt is mighty, and a force to be reckoned with. It is not necessary to use brute force,” Hattie insisted. “If I am to remain pharaoh, then my reign will be a peaceful one, if possible. We will deal with other nations on an equal basis. We will trade with them, invite them to send ambassadors to our court, and we will protect them, if necessary. We will make them all our allies and our friends.”

  “Ast!” Senemut struck the heel of his hand to his forehead. “That policy will bring Egypt down in ruins, crumbling around our ears! You must be strong, Hattie. There must be a campaign.”

  She shook her head. “Nay. There will be no campaign. At least, not now,” she temporized, seeing the genuine despair on his face. “Let us give my plan a try. If it does not work—if, in a year or two, rebellions crop up—I will follow your advice and launch a campaign. But we will try my way first. Please, Senemut?”

  He paced back and forth like a caged lion, glancing at her occasionally and then turning away and shaking his head. At last, he stopped directly in front of her. “I agree. We will try your reign of peace for one year. But—” He held up a finger in warning, his face stern. “—if during that time a rebellion occurs, you must order out your army to quell it. I do not wish to see my country defeated and laughed at.”

  “Egypt is my country now, too,” she protested softly. “I would not see her defeated. Very well, Senemut, I agree to your terms.” She held out her hand.

  Senemut stared at her extended hand skeptically. “What is that for?”

  Hattie couldn’t suppress a grin. “Where I come from, when people who trust one another come to an agreement, they shake hands to seal the bargain. Will you shake hands with me on our arrangement?”

  He shook his head. “A silly custom, but I will indulge you.” He took her hand in his, and they shook. Then he grasped her arm with his other hand and pulled her close. “In my country, we have a much more pleasant way of sealing a bargain between a man and a woman,” he murmured.

  She raised her face to his. “I would like to learn this custom,” she breathed. “Teach me.”

  “Aye, Your Majesty. It will be my pleasure.” He leaned down, but stopped with his lips a tantalizing inch from hers. “But then we must decide what your first royal accomplishment shall be.”

  “That is easy,” Hattie said, remembering a small portion of ancient Egyptian history. “We shall send a trading expedition to Punt.”

  “Punt? Your first accomplishment will be an expedition to a mythical land? By the sacred beard of Ptah, I think I was foolish to agree to your scheme.” He scowled down at her.

  “Trust me,” she insisted. “Punt does exist, and my expedition there will be a great success. It will be spoken of for many generations.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Oh, aye? Well, mayhap it will at that. I must remember that you have traveled here from the future, and know what is to happen. And do you know what I intend to do to you now?”

  She smiled warmly. “I do not need to see into the future to determine that.”

  * * *

  Hattie tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the ceremony to begin. The Atef ceremonial crown, similar to the White Crown of Upper Egypt in shape and color but decorated with white ostrich feathers, pressed heavily on her forehead, and she felt the beginnings of a headache creep into her temples. The midday air was stifling under the summer sun, without even a hint of a cooling breeze. She wished she were still inside the temple, where at least the stone and mud-brick walls kept it a little cooler.

  Earlier, before the heat had grown unbearable, she had participated in the ceremony to bless her expedition to Punt. Hapuseneb conducted the ceremony at the temple complex at Karnak, in the beautiful Red Chapel which Senemut had constructed in Hatshepsut’s name. The small red-quartzite chapel was the sanctuary of the sacred barque of Amun, Userhat-Amun, “Mighty of Prow is Amun”. The barque was a small, gilded wooden barge on which the statue of Amun was transported by priests from the temple at Karnak to the temple at Luxor and back again on feast days and special occasions. Under Hapuseneb’s direction, both Hattie and Chancellor Neshi, the leader of the Punt expedition, offered incense to Amun and prayed for his blessing on the voyage. Then Neshi hurried away, as quickly as he could without offending the gods, to oversee the final preparations for the first leg of the expedition.

  Now Hattie stood atop the immense pylon at the entrance to Karnak with Hapuseneb on her right and Senemut behind. The pylon, decorated with colorful murals and topped with pennants hanging limp in the still, sweltering air, gave her a perfect vantage point to watch Chancellor Neshi scurrying to and fro as five small, unassembled ships were loaded onto ox-drawn carts just east of the temple complex. Other carts were laden with trade goods: bolts of fine Egyptian linen, polished bronze and copper mirrors, dozens of beaded necklaces and bracelets, small axes and daggers, and cask after cask of Egyptian wine and beer. One cart carried water and food for the travelers’ consumption on the trip.

  Scores of sweating soldiers and oarsmen swarmed around the carts, getting underfoot more often than not, to judge by Neshi’s bellowing. His commanding voice rose clearly to Hattie above the clamor. Senemut had obviously been wise to suggest that Neshi lead the expedition.

  At last, the hubbub died down a little, and Neshi turned to look up at Hattie. He raised his staff and bowed.

  Hattie rose. “Go forth to the land of Punt,” she said, her arms outstretched to the caravan below, though she knew they couldn’t hear her words. “Amun will lead you, by land and by water, to the mysterious shores of the fabled land. Trade with the inhabitants you find there, for the glory of Hatshepsut and of all Egypt. Return with incense trees for my father Amun’s temple, and all manner of goods. May Amun guide and protect you on your perilous voyage!” She held aloft the sacred crook and flail, crossed, in blessing.

  Neshi bowed again, then turned and shouted a command to the cart drivers. They flicked their whips and the carts lurched forward as the oxen plodded away from Thebes and into the desert. They had a long, grueling journey of a hundred miles or more through the eastern desert before they reached the Red Sea, where they would assemble the boats and travel south to find Punt.

  Hattie sank down gratefully into a small stool. “At last they are underway,” she murmured. “Now we can get out of the heat.”

  “You are certain they will return?” Senemut asked her for the hundredth time since she had proposed the excursion. “The journey is long and dangerous, even before they reach the sea. And the sea itself is a treacherous place to send any man. More dangerous by far than the battlefield.”

  “But you travel in ships on the Nile, and do not think it dangerous,” she protested. “Why are Egyptians so afraid of the Red Sea?”

  “The Nile is our mother. It provides us with food for our table and clothing for our bodies. But the sea—this Red Sea, as you call it—is vast and uncharted, and full of unknown dangers.” Senemut shook his head. “You call it Red. Mayhap it is red with the blood of all the men it has swallowed up?”

  She tried to stifle a grin. “Nay, I am sure it is due to a mineral deposit, something that is red in color. Nothing more sinister than that. Aye, they will return safely, though the voyage will take nearly a year. I promise, Senemut.”

  Senemut looked unconvinced. “I will hold you to that promise, Hattie,” he said.

  CHAPTER 21
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  “Ai, she will ruin us!” Snefru moaned bitterly, his head in his hands. “I come home from months of training to find she has chosen her first official act. And what is that act? A campaign…against Syria, mayhap, which grows overbold? A new taxation to fill Egypt’s coffers? Even a new temple for herself?” He shook his head. “Nay. She chooses a trading expedition—to Punt! A land that only exists in tales to frighten small children. By all the gods, she will make Egypt a laughing stock.”

  “Have patience, friend,” Hapuseneb said, gripping Snefru’s arm and shaking it. “She but ties the rope more securely around her own neck. The nobles are aghast at this wanton waste of men and resources and, as you know, the army grows restless for lack of action. They have not seen battle since the campaign in Nubia. When her little expedition returns empty-handed—or when they fail to return at all—the peasants will turn on her as well. It has been many months since the expedition departed, and there has been no hint of its return.”

  “But the peasants love her,” Snefru put in. “There is no explanation for it, but the fact exists. She has the strong support of the commoners, and that is a point we must not overlook. They throng the streets whenever she appears. They throw lotus blossoms at her feet. And they love Senemut, who is one of their own, yet has risen to greatness.”

  “Aye, they love her because she is kind to them.” Hapuseneb pronounced “kind” as if it were a curse. To be kind was the last quality a pharaoh should exhibit. “She provides bread for their hungry bellies, clothes for their scantily-clad bodies. But they do not respect her. To earn respect, pharaoh must be firm and commanding, strong and ruthless. Not weak and soft. When her expedition fails, they will see this. I expect news any day that the expedition has been destroyed in wild foreign lands.”

  “Mayhap,” Snefru muttered. “But it may not be so easy to sway the minds of the peasants. They are a stolid and singularly unimaginative lot, and as you said, she feeds and clothes them.”