“Please rise,” Hatshepsut said, sneaking a glance at Senenmut. He watched her without speaking, his expression unusually serious. She returned her attention to the workman, recognizing his thin nose and the cleft in his chin. “You are Aka, are you not?”
An easy smile spread across the worker’s face. “I am indeed, Hemet. You have a fair memory.”
“I met you when I accompanied my father to inspect the paintings on his tomb,” she said. The trip had been years ago, before her father left for Canaan. “Your work was among the finest I’ve ever seen.”
Aka’s ears turned red. “You are too kind, Hemet.” He bent to pick up his satchel. “I’m afraid we weren’t expecting you today. The women of the Place of Truth will be frantic to sweep their steps and scrub the children’s faces.”
Hatshepsut laughed. “I don’t mind dusty stairs or smudged cheeks. I’ve asked Neb Senenmut to help design my tomb. He was unaware of the existence of the Place of Truth until today.”
“As are most people,” Aka said. “I’d be honored to accompany you into the city, if you’d like.”
They followed Aka into the tiny town, entering through tall white gates that opened onto the single main street, so narrow that the buildings on either side shaded it from the sun, leaning toward one another as if to listen to the gossip from within one another’s walls. Children played tag in the alleys, and two boys raced hoops with wooden sticks. They glanced at the newcomers, seemingly unimpressed, at least until Aka hissed and motioned them to their knees. Several women stepped outside to see what the commotion was about, including one breastfeeding a chubby-cheeked infant, and another holding a string of lamp wicks she’d been braiding, but they all fell into deep henus at the sight of the Great Royal Wife.
“You must be hot and thirsty after your trek from the river,” Aka said. “My house is at the end of the street and my wife just brewed a fresh batch of barley beer.”
“That would be lovely,” Hatshepsut said, slowing her pace as they approached the market, trailing quite the crowd behind them. She waited for the inevitable as Senenmut inspected the copper goods, wooden furniture, and inlaid baskets.
“They’re the finest I’ve ever seen,” he said, straightening after examining an ivory jewel box with stark black hieroglyphs running down the center. “All of it.”
“I told you they were the best,” Hatshepsut said, sharing a smile with Aka. She shifted on her feet, eager to keep moving to allow the illusion of a breeze, then glimpsed something—or someone—from the corner of her eye. The man ducked into a dark alley so fast she had to stand on tiptoes to see past Aka to ensure she wasn’t imagining things.
The artisan glanced behind him. “Is something wrong, Hemet?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I thought I recognized someone.”
Senenmut followed her gaze. “Another artisan?”
She shook her head. “Someone from Waset.”
Aka removed a perfectly folded square of linen from his pocket and wiped his brow. “The water carriers are here today to refill the well. These hills have no water, so we rely on a handful of water carriers from Waset to supply us every week,” he explained to Senenmut before looking to Hatshepsut once again. “Perhaps you recognized one of them.”
“Perhaps,” Hatshepsut answered slowly, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Or perhaps the heat is making me see things.”
Senenmut studied her with concern. “Your face matches the ivory on this box. We should get you out of Re’s glare.”
“Please,” Aka said. “Follow me.”
The interior of Aka’s house was dark, a result of the tiny windows cut high in the walls, but much cooler than the air outside and immaculate with its expertly woven reed mats and sparse furniture. His tiny sparrow of a wife fluttered about, producing two alabaster cups and a clay jug of beer so thick it almost required chewing. Senenmut set down his cup with a grin. “This reminds me of home,” he said to the mistress of the house. “And for that I thank you very much.”
Aka’s wife flushed at the compliment, bowing to Senenmut over hands stained from grinding her husband’s paints. “I hope we’ll be seeing more of you,” Aka said to Hatshepsut. “Your father visited the West Bank often before he flew to the sky. In fact, you remind me very much of him.”
“I do hope to come here often to check the progress of my tomb,” Hatshepsut said, smiling at the compliment and setting down her own empty cup. This project would provide a perfect excuse to leave the Hall of Women on a regular basis. Surely Thut couldn’t deny her that.
They parted from Aka at the north gate; he was headed to the south of the valley to paint scenes on Mutnofret’s tomb, but pointed them west toward some promising cliffs. Hatshepsut inquired whether there was anything the Place of Truth needed and promised to send a new flock of geese to replace the one Aka told her had been eaten by desert dogs the month before.
“We’re getting awfully tired of dried fish.” Aka laughed, then bowed once more and continued on his way.
Hatshepsut and Senenmut, having refused Aka’s offer of donkeys, walked toward the west in silence, and Hatshepsut found her mind wandering back toward the little town with its crooked houses and streets filled with laughter. For a moment she imagined what her life would be like if she lived there, brewing her husband’s beer and grinding his paints as Aka’s wife did, instead of in the palace. The idea made her feel warm and pleasant, but also bored. She wanted more from life than the comfort of a dark house and the protective walls of the Place of Truth. Not only that, but she didn’t even know how to brew beer.
Hatshepsut banished the idea. The gods had chosen a different path for her; it wouldn’t do to worry about what might have been.
She and Senenmut walked in a companionable silence broken only by Senenmut’s occasional humming, a sound that lightened Hatshepsut’s heart as they picked their way around boulders and climbed over hills of broken limestone. Re had scarcely moved when Hatshepsut found what she was looking for: a perfectly terrifying vertical incline. The cliff began at the base of an ancient riverbed, long since dry, and stretched up into the sky.
“This is it.” If she craned her neck she could just make out the pinnacle. “Can you build here?”
“You would have to pick the most dangerous spot in the valley, wouldn’t you?” Senenmut shielded his eyes from Re’s glare as he looked up. She could see his architect’s mind take measurements as he surveyed the site. “It will definitely require some fancy engineering, but Ineni and I can make it happen. If this is what you want.”
“It’s what I want,” she said. From the entrance she would be able to see not only Re’s daily ascent, but also have a bird’s-eye view of the tomb that housed her father’s ka.
It was perfect.
“Then I’ll make it happen.” Senenmut’s eyes caught hers as he spoke. Something about the way he spoke hinted that only for her would he attempt such a monumental task.
She looked away.
Out here in the desolate valley they were alone, surrounded by silent and ancient cliffs. The only witnesses were a pair of buzzards that circled the sky and the gods’ whispers in the wind.
The warm breeze whipped the hem of Hatshepsut’s sheath, bringing her the faint scent of cinnamon and honey. Senenmut didn’t move; he stood as rigid as stone until she reached up to touch the narrow white scar on his forehead, wondering for a moment where it had come from. She wanted that moment to last forever, standing on a precipice from which they could never return.
“Kiss me,” she said.
When their lips touched, it was as searing as the winds of a summer khamsin, leaving Hatshepsut breathless in its wake. Senenmut’s arms slipped around her and she clung to him, never wanting to let go.
And yet she was Egypt’s Great Royal Wife. This was treason.
She gasped. “We can’t do this.”
The blood coursed through her veins and made her light-headed, his hands in her hair as he clutched her to
him. His chest heaved as Hatshepsut pressed her forehead to his heart, feeling its furious beats mirror the pounding of her own heart.
Senenmut would find his entrails missing and his body impaled on a pike in the main square of Waset if Thutmosis were to discover them. Hatshepsut would endure a life locked in the Hall of Women, if not worse.
Nothing like this could ever happen again. And yet Hatshepsut both hoped and feared it would.
“I’m sorry.” She gave a shaky exhale. “In another life—”
He stepped back and ran his hands over his scalp. “Never apologize. I’ve waited since the day you fell in the fountain to do that.”
She couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face. “Have you really?”
“I probably shouldn’t have told you that.” He rolled his eyes, then fell serious. “But I’d face your brother and an army of medjay to do it again.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.” She stood on tiptoes, brushing her lips to his. It was reckless, but she didn’t care. This time the kiss was only a whisper, one that tasted of tears. A final good-bye.
Senenmut groaned. “Amun’s blood, woman. You’re going to be the death of me.”
“We should get back before Dagi suspects something.” She broke his gaze, not trusting what would happen next if she continued to look into his eyes. He touched her cheek, then his hands fell open at his sides.
The trek back to the barge was silent, heavy with the burden of many words left unsaid. The gods toyed with them, dangling happiness in front of them before they yanked it out of reach.
The speck of the boat grew larger as they approached the dock, until Hatshepsut could see the contents of Mouse’s baskets spread about the boat. A look askance at Senenmut showed his face set in rigid lines, his jaw clenched tight.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” Dagi asked merrily. He offered Hatshepsut his hand as she walked back up the narrow wooden plank, setting each footstep carefully this time.
“I think so.” She took her seat close to the prow. She felt a stab of remorse as Senenmut sat on the opposite side of the deck, still close enough that she could smell cinnamon on the air.
She tasted none of the pomegranate salad or melon stuffed with raisins that were offered to her, heard none of Dagi’s constant chatter as the little boat skimmed the green waves. When they arrived at the palace’s dock, she paused to thank Dagi and his crew.
By the time she finished, Senenmut was gone.
Chapter 10
Hatshepsut floated in the dark waters of the pool in the Hall of Women, a white sliver of moon hanging high in Nut’s belly. Despite the cool air, the water still held a trace of the day’s warmth, yet the remembrance of Senenmut’s lips made the blood hot in her veins.
She’d avoided returning to the Hall of Women all afternoon, but eventually had grown tired of wandering restlessly up and down the palace corridors. She had arranged for a new flock of geese for the Place of Truth and then sent for Ineni as a welcome distraction. The old architect had been close with her father, but Hatshepsut had always been struck by how differently the gods could sculpt two men. Where Osiris Tutmose had been wiry and muscular, even in his final years, everything about Ineni was pale and round, like a soft roll pulled fresh from the oven. He often even smelled like just-baked bread.
“Ineni,” she had exclaimed as he entered the palace aviary, ignoring his henu amidst the cooing of doves and twitter of songbirds. “I’m afraid I must pull you from your retirement. I require your expertise in building my tomb.”
The architect’s pudgy cheeks had dimpled with his smile. “I’m happy to be of service to the royal family once again.”
“Senenmut was adamant he wanted to work with you on the project.”
“He’s already seen me. I’m glad for his strong back.” Ineni chortled. “You’ve chosen a rather ambitious undertaking, Hemet. But, then, you are your father’s daughter.” He held out a tiny papyrus scroll tied with brown string. “I almost forgot. Senenmut asked me to deliver this to you. He sought me out before I received your summons. He seemed in a bit of a hurry.”
“Thank you.” Hatshepsut had pocketed the message, where it now lay tucked in her sheath, discarded on the tiles near the pool, taunting her and tempting her.
An invitation or a farewell? Or something else entirely?
She turned in the water to swim a bit more in what was proving a vain attempt to clear her heart. The sheet of warm water rolled over her body when a shout penetrated her waterlogged brain.
She looked up to see Mensah struggling within the clutches of two guards who protected the Hall of Women. They held him by the arms, his face as red as a beet as they attempted to drag him toward the ornate gilded gate. “The pharaoh is ill, you dimwitted jackals,” he yelled. “The Great Royal Wife needs to come now, before it’s too late!”
“Our apologies, Hemet,” one guard stuttered. “The cupbearer pushed past us—”
“Let him be.” She motioned impatiently, wiping water from her face. “Thut is ill?”
“Very. You must hurry.”
She motioned for them to turn around, and pulled herself from the water. Her fingers seemed to be tied in knots, the linen towel gnarled together. “What happened?”
Mensah peered over his shoulder. “He complained of a headache, then started slurring his words as if he’d had too much wine. He was ranting about trade agreements with the Hittites when he fell. He hit his head—there’s blood everywhere.”
“Blood doesn’t scare me.”
Mensah’s hand was clammy on her wrist, but she ignored the breach of etiquette. “Gua isn’t sure if he’s going to wake up,” he said.
Amun’s breath. This was her fault, punishment from the gods for her betrayal today.
She ran through the corridors, wrapped in the damp towel and almost slipping several times on wet feet. Slaves stared at her openmouthed as she ran through patches of shifting moonlight.
She’d betrayed Thut and now he might die. Anubis had already claimed Neferubity and their father; the jackal god couldn’t be allowed to take her brother, too.
“Please, Sekhmet,” she whispered. “I’ll do anything.”
She rounded the last corner before the pharaoh’s apartments and skidded to a stop.
Thut had no heir, no one to take his place on the Isis Throne. If he died, she would be the last surviving child of Osiris Tutmose, the only possible successor.
She choked at her blasphemy. The gods should strike her dead and feed her heart to the demon Ammit.
Mensah yanked her arm so hard that he almost pulled her shoulder from its socket. “Hurry, Hatshepsut. We might be too late.”
Two medjay guarded Thut’s apartments, their bronze spears and black-and-white ox-hide shields held at attention. One had a face as blank as the desert sands, but the second man’s face and arms were painted with primal black swirls of permanent war paint, a sign of his foreign birth.
The first guard banged the butt of his spear on the door, but the painted man stopped his comrade. “Forgive me, Hemet,” he said, “but you can’t go in there.”
“Don’t be a fool. The pharaoh is ill and I must attend him.”
His eyes bore into hers, his mouth set in a firm line. “I’m sorry, Hemet, but the pharaoh gave specific orders that he wasn’t to be disturbed.”
She stopped, taken aback. “What? But Thut hit his head.” She turned on Mensah. “How could he—”
He shoved the guard out of the way. “Stand aside, you worthless dog. The pharaoh requested the presence of his Great Royal Wife.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but Mensah kicked open the door and pushed her into the room. The door slammed shut behind her.
Thut was most certainly not unconscious.
He stood at the far end of the chambers, partially obscured by the two-headed stele from the Phoenicians, his chest heaving and smeared with blood. And yet his teeth shone white in the torchlight, the grin of a h
yena.
Nothing made sense until her brother raised his cane. There was a flash of ivory and a crack like a whip. A spatter of crimson blood on Thut’s face. A moan.
Two thick medjay hauled a man to his feet, arms pinned as Thut raised the cane again. “You were my brother!” he screamed, spittle flying. “I trusted you!”
Senenmut.
His nose gushed a river of scarlet and his left eye was swollen shut. His head lolled against his chest, a dark stain blossoming below his ribs.
“Thutmosis.” Hatshepsut could barely hear her own voice. A cool hand touched hers and she turned to see Aset beside her, shaking her head, little bells tinkling from far away.
Her brother froze, the cane hanging in midair as if ready to strike the head from one of Egypt’s enemies.
“How kind of you to join us, sister.” Thut’s eyes narrowed. “Now our party is complete. I do wish you’d thought to fully inform me of your jaunt into the Red Land today.”
She swallowed hard. “We went to choose a location for my tomb.”
Thut clenched and unclenched his fist. “Yes, I’m well aware of your plans. Mensah told me everything, about your trip into the Place of Truth and the liberties you allowed this foul rekhyt with your body.”
So it was Mensah she had seen in the market, a face so hidden in shadows she had doubted her own eyes.
Thutmosis slammed the flail into Senenmut’s nose, producing a dull crack like a melon breaking. This time there was no moan, no sound at all. “How long has this been going on?” he demanded.
“Only today. And it was only a kiss—”
He was before her in an instant, his face so close she could smell the incense on his breath. The storm in his eyes could have obliterated every village in all of Egypt. “Don’t play coy with me, sister. I was willing to overlook your whoring before we married—” He sneered. “Yes, you think I’m a fool, but I knew you didn’t come to my bed a virgin. It didn’t take long to ferret out the truth from the girl-slaves. Why do you think I promoted Mensah?” He gave a strangled laugh. “I wanted to keep an eye on both of you. I thought you might betray me, but not like this. Not with him.” He raised the cane again, poised to beat Senenmut once more.
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