It was not a question, and Hatshepsut knew Ahmose expected no reply. What possible station could a wedded husband hold? Such a presence at court would only underscore the strangeness of Hatshepsut on the throne and undermine her power. Dissolution of maat would quickly follow. And because she could not marry, she could not birth an heir.
Ahmose fiddled with her supper knife, moving her portion of duck about her bowl. “I suppose it is to be expected, a female king with a female heir. And what of Thutmose?”
“He will sire his own heir one day.”
“Two heirs to the throne, each the child of a ruling Pharaoh? Hatshepsut, you know this folly. This would endanger the peace of Egypt.”
“And yet Thutmose is already a king. He cannot be my heir; he rules already, in whatever small capacity a child may rule.”
“This skein has grown rather tangled.”
Hatshepsut sighed. “What choices do I have?”
“Take no heir. Leave the throne entirely to Thutmose, and his own heir, when you go to the Field of Reeds.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps? Any other decision would endanger the peace you fought for in Kush. Would you pit your own children against one another? Your grandchildren? Would you tear Egypt apart with civil war to satisfy your own pride?”
“Pride?” Hatshepsut returned, wounded.
“What else shall I call it?”
“Maat,” Hatshepsut insisted. “Amun came to you, Mother, to beget a king. The god did not appear to Mutnofret, nor to Iset. I love Little Tut, but it is I whom the gods have chosen. It is my blood that must continue on the throne.”
“Then marry Neferure to Thutmose. Let an heir of your own blood come about through marriage. Let it be your grandchild – a son or a daughter, if you like, but do not pit your children against one another.”
“Amun would not allow me to choose wrongly.”
“Is that what you believe?” Ahmose laughed, a bitter sound. “If only the gods were so decisive. If only they spoke to us so clearly. Even the god-chosen cannot afford such reckless certainty, Hatshepsut.”
They fell silent. The copper chimed in the trees, a small and forlorn sound.
At last Hatshepsut said, “There is no pressing need to name an heir yet. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am. Amun will reveal his truth in due time.”
Ahmose nodded her acquiescence.
“But Neferure must be the God's Wife,” Hatshepsut went on emphatically. “She will take simple tasks, to start. Egypt must have a living consort to Amun as soon as possible, for the sake of maat; on that, you and I can agree. I will begin teaching her the temple songs, the easiest dances, the prayers. And I hope it will be enough to appease the gods.”
With effort, they changed the subject, and progressed their way through the final courses of their supper. The pleasant coolness of evening settled across the garden. Servants moved through the stillness, setting lamps upon bronze tripods along the paths. Moths, attracted to the lights, fluttered here and there. The shadows of their great, soft wings fell across Ahmose’s face as mother and daughter conversed over a sweet course of figs stewed in milk. At last, pulling her shawl close about her shoulders, Ahmose rose from her seat.
“I must be on my way, Majesty. I am no longer a priestess, but still the gods expect my prayers before the night grows too late. The duties of the god-chosen are never done.”
Hatshepsut embraced her. Ahmose’s shoulders were thin beneath her hands. “It was good to see you, Mother.”
As Ahmose led her women from the Pharaoh’s garden, Hatshepsut listened to the chimes in the trees. They spoke soft and insistent as the voice inside her own heart. Amun will not allow me to fail. If he wills it, it will come to pass. My mother and my daughter both may be god-chosen, but I am the son of the god.
CHAPTER TEN
Hebenu. Yes, that will be the next.
Neferure sat motionless on her minor throne, back straight and eyes forward, gazing down upon the great hall with a serene face as a good King's Daughter ought, but the thoughts of her heart were many days’ journey away. For the past year, ever since her appointment as God’s Wife of Amun, she had been absorbed with the restoration of her temples. She often thought of them that way – her temples – though of course they belonged to the gods, and Neferure was but their loving servant.
Now and then she would wake in the night to the sound of an indistinct whisper and would lie in her bed straining to hear more. At such times she would think about her temples, and wonder why she felt no fear at calling them hers. A wise girl would be fearful. One did not stake a claim on that which belonged by rights to the gods. But Neferure had never feared the gods.
Oh, she was certain the gods could be wrathful when they were displeased. The histories Senenmut taught her were full of tales of angry gods. If they were angry with men, then the river failed to rise, and people starved by the thousands. Or illnesses swept through the Two Lands. Or one god or another would lend his strength to enemies – or deny his strength to Egypt; Neferure was never sure which – and Egypt would be invaded. So many terrible things could happen if the Holy Ones were not properly appeased. But this small thing – Neferure and her temples – did not displease them. She was certain of it.
Hebenu. Pakhet's temple there has been in ruins for generations. Senenmut said so.
On the great Pharaoh's throne, Hatshepsut gave some command or other, and the stewards scurried about the hall like scarabs in the sun, blundering and worried and frantic, the way stewards always were. Neferure tried not to sigh at the monotony of court. She clung doggedly to her thoughts of Pakhet and her long-wrecked temple.
What did Senenmut tell me of the place? Hebenu is far to the south, and Pakhet guards the great ravine that is... she struggled to recall the words of her tutor's lesson. ...that is scoured by the flash floods. In her imagination it seemed a dangerous, wild place, just steps away from the heat and dry desolation of the Red Land. A fitting locale for Pakhet, She Who Scratches, the lioness who was so like the fierce warrior-goddess Sekhmet. She is a sister to Sekhmet. If I restore her temple and make it beautiful again, not only Pakhet will be pleased, but Sekhmet, too. The thought was accompanied by a deep, pulsing thrill inside her belly, below the place where her heart beat. Her grandmother Ahmose had been teaching her near as much as Senenmut. Neferure knew enough by now to recognize the assurance that only the god-chosen can feel. It is right – it is maat. My heart tells me so. Pakhet's temple at Hebenu will be next, and Sekhmet's wrath will be stilled.
She would give the order to Senenmut as soon as court was finished.
A year ago, shortly after she had tried to make her mother see the folly of tearing down the former king's uncarved gateway, Senenmut had arranged for Neferure to turn her energies to the restoration of the many old, ruined temples throughout the Two Lands. It was a sop to her disappointment and helplessness at being cornered into the station of God's Wife of Amun. She knew that, and at first she had tried to be displeased with her tutor for thinking he could soothe her so easily. But the truth was, she did feel gladdened. She and Senenmut often sat together in the evenings when her supper was finished, he reading descriptions of the ruins, she dictating which were the next to be rebuilt, and how. She even decreed which scenes were to be painted on the walls. Senenmut wrote her words down in his careful, neat hand, and a few days afterward a crew of builders would be dispatched to one of Neferure's temples to make her word into deed. It was a heady thing, and it gave her purpose. It distracted her from the confinement she felt serving Amun. For though Amun was a god, to be sure, he ignored Neferure, never entering her heart the way her secret god did, the one who whispered to her, faceless and mysterious, in the night.
The double doors at the end of the long hall opened, and the Steward of Audiences approached the royal dais, bowing. “Majesties, Good Gods of the Two Lands, I present the families which you summoned.”
Neferure watched with growing curiosity as a crowd came h
esitantly into the great hall. There were men and women dressed in the quality clothing and bright colors of nobles, and each pair ushered a girl near Neferure's own age of eight. She glanced across Hatshepsut's throne to Thutmose's on the other side of the dais, hoping to catch her brother's eye, but the young Pharaoh sat regally still as he had been taught, his arms lying on the golden rests of his own kingly chair, his feet propped on a small ebony footstool studded with turquoise so that he would not forget himself and swing his legs in an undignified manner. He wore a child-sized replica of Hatshepsut's own crown, the tall, tiered structure of red and white that represented the unity of Upper and Lower Egypt.
The families made their way down the length of the chamber, gawking about them at the massive pillars that lined the hall, at the vivid paint and gilding depicting generations of kings and their mighty deeds, depicting the gods who moved them. Stewards flanked the group like shepherds driving their flock to water. Neferure almost giggled at the thought, but chased the smile from her lips as they drew up near the foot of the dais. She was not just King's Daughter now, but God's Wife of Amun. It would not be maat to giggle in the presence of Egypt's subjects.
“Welcome,” Hatshepsut said.
The families bowed low, showing the palms of their hands to the royal family in a display of obedience.
When they straightened, Neferure passed her gaze swiftly across the faces of the girls. There were perhaps a dozen of them, none quite old enough to have bled. All wore the side-slicked hair, the braid over one ear, of girls still dwelling in the realm of childhood. Neferure wore the braid, too, but she did not feel any kinship with these girls. She was not a child, whatever her years might suggest. She was the God's Wife, and god-chosen, as Lady Ahmose had declared. Did these geese trembling at the foot of the throne look upon the King's Daughter and think, Look, there is a girl just our age, a girl like we...? If they did, then they were fools.
“Do not be frightened, dear girls – my flowers of Egypt.” Hatshepsut was speaking again in her throne voice, richer and deeper, more carrying than the voice she used in her chambers, which was, Neferure thought, rather shrill. “We have brought you here to honor you. Yes, you, and not your fathers and mothers, though they are also worthy of honor.”
At the word we the elder girls flicked quick glances toward Thutmose. One or two blushed and made cow eyes at him. Neferure's eyelids grew heavy at their displays of silliness, though it was the only disdain she allowed her face to show. For his part, Thutmose remained regally uncaring on his throne, oblivious to the girls' discomposure.
“You know, girls, how important is the happiness of our gods. We must always give them the best we have, the very best that we can offer, for this is maat. We have identified each of you as the very best. You come from good families, noble and loyal to the gods and to your kings. And you yourselves are good girls, obedient and quick to learn, strong and healthy in body, pleasing to your mothers and fathers. You stand before your Pharaohs so that we might invite you to be the very best of offerings. Would you go to Iunet, to the Temple of Hathor, and learn to serve the Lady of the West?”
Suddenly a great, painful lump rose up in Neferure's throat, choking her. She swallowed hard. Her ribs seemed too small for her heart, squeezing it like a fist.
The girls, startled out of propriety, looked at one another in shock or seized their mothers' hands. Some of them looked decidedly frightened, on the verge of tears – though a few appeared to grasp at once what an honor, what a glory it would be to become a priestess of Hathor. Those stood a little taller, while Neferure sank into her throne.
Hatshepsut rushed to soothe the fear of the more timid children. “You will not be required to go, nor will your families make the decision for you. It is each girl's choice, for Hathor wants her priestesses to come to her willingly, and to devote their whole hearts to her service.
“She is a mighty goddess, you know, one of great power and mystery. She once ruled the west bank of the river herself. She wears seven guises, and brings joy to our hearts and children to women's wombs. And she is the fiercest warrior, the face of Sekhmet, who protects our lands from enemies.”
Neferure's heart beat so hard she thought her whole body must shake with its rhythm. But the eyes of all – the nobles and their daughters, the stewards and servants of the great hall, even Thutmose – were on the Pharaoh, not on her daughter. She felt a pulling sensation deep in the seat of her ka, a longing she could not name, a whispering she could not hear.
“You have two weeks to choose. But it must be your own choice, and no other's. Those of you who do wish to serve the goddess shall be provided with all you need by your Pharaohs, and given gifts of gratitude, and sent to Iunet like the worthy tributes you are.”
Neferure saw the consideration in the eyes of the noblemen and their wives, saw the excitement grow on the faces of the girls clustered about them. She wanted to leap from her throne and join them, stand before her mother's throne and declare that she was the flower of Egypt, the daughter of the king, the worthiest tribute of them all. She would go to Iunet, not these mortal-bred children, and Hathor would rejoice in her presence as Amun never had.
But Senenmut and the king had too often filled her heart with the tenets of maat. Neferure had no more courage than did a mouse, no will to defy her training. She sat still on her throne as the noble families were ushered out of the royal presence, her back straight, her face serene, her eyes betraying nothing, the very picture of a good King's Daughter.
**
That evening Neferure's ka would not settle. It moved uncomfortably between a curdled, shivering weakness and a boiling rage that made her feel as though her skin might burst, as though her body would split in two and her angry spirit swell to engulf her whole room – the whole of the House of Women, in fact – with the force of her fury.
She ignored her supper and would not even touch the sweetened cow’s milk her former wet-nurse Takhat offered, but told the silly-hearted woman that she wanted strong red wine. Takhat only laughed, which made Neferure all the angrier. She stalked about her chamber, throwing cushions against the walls and stomping her feet until Takhat's composure finally broke. The nurse unbent from her sewing and drove Neferure out into the twilit garden with shrieks of “Out, out from under my wig, you nasty little lioness!”
But the garden provided no relief to Neferure's ka. She tried to sit still on the bench beneath the sycamore, tried to open her heart to the gods as Ahmose had taught her. She tucked her legs up beneath her skirt, clasped her hands lightly and rested them on the tight linen bridge her dress made between her knees. The garden whispered in deep blue shadow, and bats made their miniscule chirps among the sycamore leaves, but the gods said nothing to Neferure, and her fury only grew.
It's not fair. It's not maat!
“I want to be a Hathor priestess,” she said aloud. Her voice stumbled somewhere between plaintive and commanding. The only reply was the small, flitting song of the bats in the gathering darkness.
At last, when she knew that peace would evade her until she had set the world's greatest injustice to rights, Neferure went back through her lamp-lit doorway to her small chamber in the House of Women. Takhat looked up warily from her needlework.
“I want to go to my mother.”
The wet-nurse sighed.
“I want to go to my mother now.”
“This is behavior unbecoming the King's Daughter.”
“Don't talk like a noble lady to me. You're just a rekhet.”
“I am the wet-nurse to the King's Daughter, and that puts me a good deal higher than any fancy lady covered in gold and gems.”
“Well, it doesn't put you higher than me.”
Takhat rolled her eyes. “That long-faced nurse of yours...tutor...whatever he calls himself now – Senenmut should have thrashed you more often when you were a little thing. Maybe then you would know the proper way to treat your servants.”
“Don't you talk of Senenmut that way
. He knows better than to thrash me.”
But the mention of his name sparked an idea in Neferure's heart. It caught alight, flaming hot.
Where was Senenmut tonight? Typically he would take supper with Neferure, and they would go over plans for the temples, and he would listen to all her cares and concerns and smooth them away with a gentle hand on her brow and a soft, loving smile. Surely his absence was a part of what unsettled her ka, but it was the injustice she had been made to suffer through in the great hall that truly vexed her.
Even Takhat did not know where Senenmut was. Neferure could see that at once; she felt the assurance of it deep in that place Ahmose had spoken of, where her ka quivered and raged. And without Senenmut close to hand....
“Take me to my mother or I'll scream and cry!”
“Oh, stop this at once! It's been six years since you last nursed at my breast. You are not a baby any longer.”
Neferure sucked in a breath, held it a moment, held Takhat's eye. The challenge crackled in the air between them, but Neferure knew she had already won. She unleashed a high-pitched scream that rebounded off her chamber walls.
“Set take you!” Takhat threw her sewing onto the couch beside her and clapped her hands over her ears, glowering, thinking to outlast Neferure's tantrum.
But she screamed again and again, and pitched herself onto the floor, kicked her heels against the tiles, beat her fists until Takhat stormed from the room calling Senenmut's name. Neferure kept up her shrieking, though her throat felt raw. It almost felt good to scream, to give some voice to her ka's great anger. And she knew Takhat would not find Senenmut in his apartment at the outer wall of the House of Women, where he was supposed to be conveniently located to see to the needs of the King's Daughter. If he had been nearby at all, he would have come to Neferure's chamber with her supper tray.
She let her tantrum go on until at last Takhat returned to the room, scowling her defeat, and said, “Get up, you beast. The guards are fetching a litter to take you to the palace.”
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