Daughter of the Gods: A Novel of Ancient Egypt

by Stephanie Thornton

  “Stop!” Her voice trembled. She wanted to throw herself between Senenmut and her brother, but that would only ensure Senenmut’s death sentence. “Please. You’re above this.”

  Thut’s fingers curved around her throat. “Do you know what I could do to you, Hatshepsut, what I want to do to you? I could kill you with my own hands. Deliver you to Anubis so you could never betray me again.”

  She shoved him away. There would be a necklace of bruises ringing her neck tomorrow. “I made a mistake.”

  “You betrayed me!” Thut roared.

  An unexpected blow to the side of her face sent her stumbling back and exploded white fire in her eye. She braced for another blow, but it never came. Instead, Thut’s cane clattered to the floor and he gave a strangled sob. Aset was at his side, her pale hand on his arm. “Perhaps your Great Royal Wife tells the truth,” she murmured. “Or perhaps her offense is worthy of your forgiveness?”

  There was a long silence, Thut’s cheeks fading from purple to the shade of parchment.

  “I can never forgive her. And I don’t want her excuses.” Thut studied Hatshepsut, his eyes flat. “You might care to know that I didn’t have a chance to summon Senenmut after Mensah told me of your little excursion. He showed up at my door to ask my permission to leave court.” He gave a hollow laugh. “Your precious lover planned to abandon you.”

  He was lying, she was sure of it. Thut was only trying to hurt her.

  But then she recalled the letter from Senenmut still hidden in her pocket, and Ineni’s mention of him being in a hurry. She glanced at Senenmut, slumped unconscious between the medjay, his chest barely rising and falling.

  He would have left her.

  Thut cleared his throat. “Senenmut will die a traitor’s death, impaled on a stake and his body burned. His name and ka will disappear from both this world and the afterlife. The court will be told he left the City of Truth to return to his family in Iuny. You shall never speak of this and will never again leave the Hall of Women. Do you understand?”

  The law gave Thutmosis every right to execute Senenmut, but it would be her actions that led to his death. Another stain on her ka.

  “Please, Thut, not his ka. It was my fault—”

  “I’m well aware whose fault it was.” He turned to the medjay. “Get that thing out of here.” He touched Aset’s cheek tenderly, then grimaced and turned his hands over. They were wet with blood. “Leave us.”

  Aset seemed about to say something, but stopped. She frowned at Hatshepsut, then bowed to Thut and disappeared into the shadows. The guards followed, the door closing with a final thud.

  Thut jerked his head toward the ground. “Lie down.”

  Hatshepsut hesitated, her skin prickling with dread.

  “I said, lie down. And take off that towel.”

  Her life was no longer her own; today’s events had taught her that.

  She took her time folding the damp linen, willing her hands to stop shaking. Slowly she lay on the cold tiles. Her nipples puckered, the tremors spreading up her whole body now.

  “Am I not man enough for you?” Thut undid the rope at his waist. “It’s not enough that I’ve been cheated of my leg, but now you’d rob me of my manhood, too?”

  She let him push her legs apart, and he slammed into her with a grunt. Hatshepsut swallowed her cry, but that only enraged him more, and his fingers dug into her shoulders, his thrusts growing increasingly impatient. Her mind became numb, then her body. Still not finished, he finally rolled away, his member soft and flaccid, and scrambled for his bloodied kilt. “I loved you. I’d have given you everything.” His voice cracked, his hard eyes shining in the torchlight. “But I wasn’t enough, was I?”

  He hobbled off, and she curled into herself, touching hesitant fingers to her swollen eye and looking down at her bruised body. Blood coated her legs, her breasts, her hands.

  Senenmut’s blood.

  • • •

  The next morning she received a message from Thut, delivered by one of the guards who had dragged Senenmut away. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  The punishment is complete.

  She bit her lip and nodded, hands clasped tight in her lap. She refused to cry before this man.

  Before snapping to attention and departing, he set two small packages on the table: a small linen bundle and an ebony box tied with worn leather thongs. Her mind still numb, she unwrapped the linen first.

  Inside was a leather band, damp along the edges and embossed with the ibis-headed Thoth, god of knowledge and writing. Her fingers came away with a vibrant streak of fresh blood.

  She clasped Senenmut’s armband to her chest with a moan, hands trembling as silent tears streamed down her cheeks. It took some time to muster the strength to open the box. As she peered inside, her ka fled her body, unable to bear the horror. She slid to the floor, choking for breath.

  A meaty organ, dark red and the size of her fist, slick with fresh blood and covered by a loose web of blue veins. The top contained several white, wide holes where it had been severed from its owner.

  A heart. Senenmut’s heart.

  The heart controlled the body and housed a man’s memory, his personality, his ka. Without his heart, Senenmut could not be judged in the afterlife and would simply cease to exist, as if he had never been. She would never see him again, not even in death.

  Eyes closed, she slammed the box shut, but couldn’t find the strength to leave the floor. Sitre and Mouse helped her to her bed sometime later that day, but still she clung to the box and armband, the last remnants of Senenmut’s existence. The room had gone dark when the haze finally lifted from her mind and she realized what she must do.

  Fumbling to strike an oil lamp, she blinked against its sudden flame and dug frantically through a reed basket to find what she needed: a slender bone needle, one that Sitre often used to mend the hems of her sheaths.

  By the light of the lamp, she began to carve the worn side of Senenmut’s armband, the leather shiny where it had rubbed against his skin. Skin that was no more. Her eyes filled with tears and her finger slipped, and the needle stabbed her opposite wrist, a fresh cut atop those she had carved into her flesh when Neferubity had died. She continued on, not caring when her own blood smeared the leather.

  When she was finished, she surveyed her handiwork, the figure of a man and a single word in hieroglyphs.

  Senenmut.

  Thut had sought to obliterate him completely, to kill Senenmut and destroy his body, to cut out his heart so he could never arrive in the Field of Reeds. But as long as Senenmut’s name and figure remained somewhere in this world, he could rise again. She had killed him, but she would keep him alive in the afterlife.

  She owed him so much more, but this, at least, she could give him.

  She tucked away the scrap of leather, hiding it in the bottom of the old reed basket with Sekhmet’s red amulet.

  Remnants of another life.

  Only then did she remember Senenmut’s note. Frantic that Sitre might have already taken the sheath to be laundered, she breathed a sigh of relief when she found it flung over a chair. Untying the string and carefully unrolling the delicate paper, she didn’t realize the tears had escaped until they dropped to the paper, blurring the single line of Senenmut’s almost illegible script.

  I’d wait my whole life for you.

  Chapter 11

  Hatshepsut had slept only once in the dark days following Senenmut’s death, but fanged demons and the albino witch had stalked her dreams.

  Your name will live forever.

  You shall be the downfall of those you love.

  Egypt will prosper, but those closest to you shall find only anguish and ruin.

  Senenmut was dead. Thut despised her. She’d betrayed and been betrayed.

  A man was dead at her hands, and not just any man. A man she might have loved, had she been given the chance.

  She didn’t sleep again, only turned her back toward the door and stared at the s
wirl of lotus flowers and frolicking red and white calves painted on the wall. It was then that she noticed a line of uneven notches carved into the plaster. She touched their rough edges, counting each one. Seventy-seven.

  A lucky number.

  A story from her childhood floated to her mind about a farmer’s daughter brought to her father’s palace as a concubine at the beginning of his reign. Hatshepsut had once come upon her mother talking about the girl with Sitre.

  “An unlucky end for so lucky a woman,” Ahmose had said, shaking her head over her needlework. “She should have felt honored to be chosen for the pharaoh’s bed.”

  Then her mother had looked up and seen Hatshepsut in the doorway. After that, the discussion had turned to talk of eye paints and perfume.

  Hatshepsut rolled over for the first time in days. Sitre sat next to her bed, eyes closed and hands resting on her lap. An onyx grinding stone with half-ground pebbles of kohl lay forgotten at her side.

  “Sitre, what happened to the girl who last lived in this room?”

  Her menat’s eyes fluttered open and she reached out to touch Hatshepsut’s cheek. “So, you’ve decided to join the land of the living again.”

  For now. That didn’t mean she was going to stay.

  “The girl in this room? What happened?”

  Sitre shook her head. “One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”

  “I want to know. She was one of my father’s concubines, wasn’t she?”

  “Yes, she was.” Sitre sighed. “And an ungrateful one at that. She asked to go home, but of course that wasn’t allowed.”

  “But she left on her own, didn’t she? After seventy-seven days.”

  “How did you know that?”

  Hatshepsut glanced at the carved notches on the wall, envisioning the hennaed hand that had etched them. “Lucky guess. What happened to her?”

  “She hanged herself with a linen belt, Hemet.” Sitre’s eyes flicked to the worn cedar beam running across the ceiling. “And don’t you go thinking you might want the same end. I’d follow you to the Field of Reeds just to wring your neck if you did.”

  Hatshepsut rolled onto her back, imagining a body dangling from the beam. It was a tempting thought, but she didn’t deserve an easy escape. She’d have to find another way out of the Hall of Women.

  Sitre’s hand touched hers. “This came for you a while ago.”

  In her palm lay a pink lotus blossom, a little wilted but still fragrant. Attached was a scrap of papyrus.

  Hatshepsut opened it, heart pounding at the thought that this might be a final message from Senenmut. She wasn’t sure she wanted to read it if it was.

  Her blood went cold at the familiar handwriting.

  Forgive me.

  Mensah.

  She crushed the flower and paper together in her fist, singeing them in the flame of an oil lamp before letting the fire overtake both. She would never forgive him, not as long as she lived.

  “Was that from Mensah?” Sitre’s voice was soft, as if she feared that speaking too loud might cause Hatshepsut to break.

  Hatshepsut nodded, unable to find words.

  “Thutmosis has made him vizier.” Sitre glanced at Hatshepsut. “I thought you might wish to know.”

  To know that her former lover had betrayed her and been rewarded with an elevation to the second-highest position in the Two Lands? How many punishments could she bear before the gods managed to destroy her?

  “Sitre?”

  “Yes?” She had gone back to grinding the kohl.

  “I need to bribe a priest of Anubis.”

  The grinding stopped. “Should I ask why?”

  “I need to mummify something.”

  Sitre’s face softened and she patted Hatshepsut’s hand. “I’ll get you whatever you need, sherit. I always will.”

  • • •

  It took a few days, but Sitre found a wa’eb priest of Anubis, one with the stench of death clinging to him, who was willing to tell her the forbidden secrets of mummification in exchange for a pair of gold bracelets. Muddling through his instructions as best they could, the women washed Senenmut’s heart with palm wine; swathed it in sacred linen discarded by the gods’ temples; and filled the ebony box with natron, myrrh, and cinnamon. Hatshepsut choked back a sob at the sweet smell of the familiar spice. Then, alone, Hatshepsut buried Senenmut’s heart in a quiet corner of the Hall of Women, under the shade of a sycamore tree.

  “I will see you again in the Field of Reeds,” she whispered, smoothing the earth and sand. “I swear it.”

  Tears threatened to overwhelm her, but she pushed them away, embracing Sekhmet’s fury until she felt like a caged lion, ready to devour the first person who crossed her path. She hoped Mensah might be that person—she’d dreamed up at least a hundred unique ways to torture him in exchange for his treachery—but locked away in the Hall of Women, she’d likely never see him again. She’d have to content herself with imagining his body being pushed from a cliff or torn limb from limb by jackals. For now.

  Sitre had finally thrown her out of her own chambers, after she’d hurled a faience urn against the wall and watched with some small satisfaction as it fractured into hundreds of blue fragments, like tiny shards of the sky.

  She had to do something, anything. Otherwise she’d soon run out of vases.

  There was one task she wasn’t looking forward to. She picked up the box inlaid with mother-of-pearl figures of Horus and Hathor that Mouse had prepared at her request and crossed the empty courtyard, catching sight of her mother’s chambers from the corner of her eye. Mutnofret had cited poor health and retired to a rich estate in the Nile delta—one renowned for its beekeepers and date farms—so now Ahmose was finally left in peace. Normally Hatshepsut might have slipped past, but a visit with her mother offered a welcome distraction. She rapped on the portal.

  “Enter.”

  The door groaned on ancient hinges. Her mother sat on a leather footstool, embroidering a colorful hem on a new sheath. “The dutiful daughter descends from on high to check in on her mother.” Ahmose spoke without malice, setting down her sewing and looking up. She gasped. “What happened to your eye?”

  No amount of kohl could cover the evidence of the fight with Thut. The bruise had faded to a sickly shade of yellow around the edges.

  Hatshepsut’s hand fluttered to her eye. ”It’s nothing—just a disagreement with Thut. How are you?”

  “I may die from boredom soon. The only excitement I’ve had in months has been the arrival of that new chit, Aset.” Her mother’s lip twitched and she stabbed the fabric with the slim bone needle. “I was surprised to hear that Senenmut left court to return to his mud hut in Iuny. I thought the rekhyt and Thutmosis were close. Didn’t you spend some time with him as well?”

  Hatshepsut nodded, unable to speak. If only Senenmut really had gone to Iuny. But she wouldn’t talk of that with her mother, or with anyone, for that matter. She blinked hard and motioned to the inlaid box of sweets she’d brought as a gift. “I’m on my way to visit Aset now.”

  “Why in Set’s name would you do that?”

  “Because I like her.” Not to mention she was indebted to her, not that candied dates and honeyed almonds could adequately thank the girl for saving Hatshepsut’s face from being beaten to a bloody pulp. “I have no reason not to.”

  “She’s competition for your husband.” Ahmose spoke as if she were talking to a dullard. “And for a son.”

  Hatshepsut’s eyes flicked heavenward. “I know my duty, Mother. But Aset is not going to usurp my position. She’s a commoner, for the love of Amun.”

  “A commoner with plenty of colorful gossip following her from Hathor’s temple.” Ahmose glanced at the door and her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “They say she managed her place at the Festival of Intoxication only because she poisoned Hathor’s senior dancer. Rumor has it she mixed ground elder flower into her bread.”

  “Tongues will wag about any girl singled o
ut by the pharaoh.”

  “There’s more,” her mother continued. “It seems the High Priest of Hathor also enjoyed Aset’s many charms. Apparently he was quite put out at the pharaoh’s demand to release her from the temple.”

  “Next thing you know, she’ll have seduced Amun himself.”

  The gods knew Aset had already seduced Horus, or at least his representative here on earth.

  Ahmose pursed her lips and waggled her needle at Hatshepsut. “You mark my words. That girl is trouble.”

  “I have a spy at the temple of Hathor.” She’d contacted Merenaset only once, shortly after her audience at court, and received a report that she was enjoying her official duties as chantress and that the High Priest of Hathor had a collection of the goddess’s best offerings hidden in his personal storeroom. Hatshepsut had suspected as much, and she had filed away that information for future use. “Would it make you happy if I asked for a report on Aset?” she asked her mother.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, it would. I saw Thutmosis with her yesterday—it’s sickening how he fawns over her. I had hoped your brother would have more sense than to start plucking rekhyt from every field in Egypt. He must be looking for someone like his mother.”

  Hatshepsut didn’t wish to listen to a recital of the ills her mother had suffered—imagined or otherwise—at Mutnofret’s hands. “If Aset pleases Thut and he makes her happy, then so be it. Perhaps Hathor smiles on them.”

  The gods knew Hathor certainly didn’t smile on Hatshepsut. And she preferred to keep her distance from Thut, at least for now.

  Ahmose shrugged and picked up her sewing again. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. I wouldn’t trust that girl any more than I would an angry scorpion.”