“Word travels fast.” By sunset the news would have spread to every farmer and fisherman on the Nile. She hoped that by next month the same rekhyt would proclaim her own pregnancy.
Chapter 12
The herbs were bitter but potent.
As Aset’s belly swelled, Hatshepsut could scarcely rise from her couch each morning. When she did manage to pull herself to a somewhat erect position, it was only to heave the remnants of yesterday’s meals into the limestone toilet basin. Sitre and Mouse had to rinse the pot quickly, lest any noxious odors further upset their mistress’s fickle stomach.
“The babe is strong.” It was the first acknowledgment from Sitre of the inevitable and happy truth: Hatshepsut was with child, her monthly courses having been tardy for several weeks now.
“Strong?” Hatshepsut could barely raise her head from her limestone pillow. She wished she could stay on the decadent coolness of the tiled floor all day.
“He’s already attached himself strongly to you.” Sitre hovered over Hatshepsut and stroked her forehead.
“Why didn’t Aset have to endure this misery?” Hatshepsut asked, feeling the need to retch again.
Sitre chuckled and wrung out a towel from the washbasin to place on the back of Hatshepsut’s neck. “It’s different each time for every woman. And this will pass soon enough.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“Have you told your mother?”
Hatshepsut managed to shake her head. “Not yet. I planned to tell Thut today. I can’t wait to have my bed to myself again.”
“He’ll be thrilled. Two babes in so little time—”
“You mean he’ll be extremely proud of himself.” Hatshepsut struggled to her feet. “At this rate he’ll have a string of heirs to choose from.”
Sitre helped her stand. “That’s what your father thought.”
“True.” Her father had sired four legitimate sons and two daughters, but only one of each had survived. Hatshepsut’s hand fluttered to her stomach, marveling that Egypt’s future heir could be growing within her. A son would clear her path to the throne again, something not even Thut could deny. She’d have her old life back. Almost.
She prayed every day to Isis to forget Senenmut, but the goddess turned a deaf ear to her pleas. And so it should be. His death was a scar her ka would bear until the day her heart was weighed against Ma’at’s feather.
She sank to her knees before a new shrine to Isis and Taweret. She’d also included Djeseret’s tiny statue of Hathor, although the cow goddess of love stood behind the other two goddesses. The musky scent of incense filled her nose as she began her daily chant to the protectors of expectant mothers. She’d never been so dedicated in her prayers, but, then, she’d never needed the goddesses’ blessings so much.
She prayed for a boy.
• • •
Princess Enheduanna arrived just as Hatshepsut felt the first flutter of life in her womb, like a tiny bird opening its wings to fly for the first time. The nobility had gone to the river to welcome the Akkadian princess to the City of Truth, led by Mensah in his new vizier’s robes, and all strutting like gaudy peacocks in their best linens and jewels. Thut had gifted Aset with the privilege of leaving the Hall of Women to greet Enheduanna in a closed cedar litter, so she might see but not be seen. He’d also given her a priceless bolt of gold linen blessed by a priestess of Hathor. Her slaves had transformed the material into a flowing tunic that somehow managed to hide the swell of her belly. There had been no gifts for Hatshepsut.
“I wish I could stay behind,” Aset had muttered to Hatshepsut that morning in the courtyard. “I wish the whore’s boat would sink.”
Hatshepsut’s lip twitched. Aset had taken it into her head that Enheduanna resembled the Akkadian goddess of love, Ishtar, courtesan of their foreign gods. Now Aset referred to Enheduanna only as “the whore” or “the prostitute.” Of course, that was only when they were alone. The moment she slipped up in front of Thut promised to be terribly entertaining.
“And what if the princess can swim?” Hatshepsut had said. “You’ll be far more useful at the docks than shut away here. Perhaps you can manage to trip Enheduanna before she bows to Thut.”
“So she falls on an already hideous face.” Aset had flashed a wicked grin, then kissed Hatshepsut on the cheek. “I’ll see what I can do.”
She had climbed into the waiting litter and let the linen curtains flutter shut. The slaves’ footsteps had disappeared and the palace had fallen silent, as if holding its breath.
Hatshepsut watched from the audience window above the Walls of the Prince, uncaring if Re beat down upon her. She shielded her eyes, the timid breeze shifting the translucent linen over her swollen belly. The official excuse for her absence from the procession was a difficult pregnancy, and while she was still sick in the mornings, she’d heard the whispers spoken about her, had demanded that Mouse and Sitre spare no details.
“They claim the pharaoh banished you from his bed.” Mouse had made that report weeks ago, finding the tiles on the floor terribly interesting as she spoke.
“I’m pregnant. Thut doesn’t need me in his bed, nor do I have any desire to be there.”
“He still calls for Aset.” Mouse glanced up, then stared at her bare feet. “Almost every night. The court thinks she might replace you if her babe is a boy.”
Hatshepsut felt her cheeks burn. “I don’t care what the court thinks. They would do well to remember that I am Great Royal Wife, daughter of one pharaoh and wife to another.”
Sitre folded her arms under her heavy breasts. “Then perhaps you should start acting like it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Sitre grabbed her by the shoulders and glared at her. “You’ve been headstrong and wild since the day you fell from your mother’s womb, but you aren’t stupid. People realize it’s no coincidence Senenmut left court the same time you disappeared into the Hall of Women. Your chair is empty next to the Isis Throne, your sun disk setting while Aset’s rises.”
“My sun disk isn’t setting.”
“You’re locked in the Hall of Women, ignored by the pharaoh, and ready to drive me mad.” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “If you don’t do something, I’ll soon have to knock some sense into you.”
Hatshepsut shook her off, sure that things between her and Thut would improve. But they hadn’t so far.
And now she stood alone above the Walls of the Prince, watching the garish parade of courtiers snake its way up Waset’s streets and under the Great Double Gate, her brother triumphantly leading the entourage of his latest concubine. He rode in a golden chariot drawn by a sleek black stallion, while an open, gilded litter carried Enheduanna behind him. The Akkadian princess was not ugly—far from it. Her bare breasts were like ripe melons swaying with the movement of the litter, and although her ruffled blue skirt and coiled silver crown reeked of her foreign blood, her black hair shone like polished ebony and her cheekbones were as high as Ishtar’s. Slaves had strewn the path with white and blue lotus petals, the crowd cheering wildly at the sight of the foreign princess given to their god. Yet another of Egypt’s vassals paid homage to the pharaoh’s greatness. Everything was as it should be.
Thut and Enheduanna passed under the Great Double Gate, continuing to the main courtyard until they passed from sight. Only then did a carved cedar litter come into view, its white curtains drawn.
Aset.
Hatshepsut climbed down the stairs into the courtyard of the Hall of Women, waiting with hands clasped before the colossal gilded gate. The guards pounded their spears on the ground, and her heart echoed the sound. Then the gate swung open and Thut entered, Enheduanna on his arm.
“This is the Hall of Women, your new home,” Thut said. His eyes fell on Hatshepsut and he gave a tight smile. “And this is Hatshepsut, my sister and Great Royal Wife.”
Hatshepsut felt like a hippo before the princess’s tiny waist and full hips. Even th
e woman’s bow was as graceful as a swan’s, the bracelets of silver on her wrists and ankles tinkling. Her musk perfume was so strong even the winds must have been heartsick.
“We are pleased to welcome you to the Two Lands.” Hatshepsut forced her lips into a smile. “I hope your journey was pleasant.”
Thut helped Enheduanna to her feet, his fingers brushing the firm flesh of her breast. The nipple puckered at his touch.
Hatshepsut swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth, saved from saying any more by the arrival of the cedar litter. Slaves pulled away the curtains and Aset emerged, still graceful but encumbered by her swollen belly.
A smile flickered over Enheduanna’s full lips, gone so quickly that Hatshepsut thought she might have imagined it. But, no, the Akkadian’s eyes still laughed as Aset scrambled to Hatshepsut’s side.
No matter the cloth of gold, Aset still looked and acted like a rekhyt. Hatshepsut felt her cheeks burn with anger and embarrassment for her.
“And this is Aset,” Thut said. “As you can see, both my women currently carry my seed.”
Aset’s hand clutched Hatshepsut’s behind the folds of their skirts. Her nails bit into Hatshepsut’s palm.
Enheduanna smiled and dared to bring Thut’s hand to caress her stomach, then lower. “As will I,” she said, her musical voice heavily accented. “Very soon.”
Thut called for Enheduanna that night.
• • •
Ignored by Thut, Hatshepsut and Aset rubbed goose lard and almond oil over their bellies as the last days of Peret slipped into the season of Shomu, when donkeys were piled high with the fruits of the harvest and led to market. Aset had developed a penchant for pickled turnips, the smell of which made Hatshepsut more nauseated than usual. They ignored Enheduanna as she paraded past them each night in a cloud of perfume on her way to the pharaoh’s chambers, clad only in her rainbow of foreign skirts and the newest jewels Thut had showered upon her. Often Aset would fall asleep in Hatshepsut’s bed, hands clasped under her chin and knees tucked up to her expanding belly, its stretched flesh now marred with a web of angry purple lines. Sometimes they would lie together, hands on the other’s bellies, giggling at the tiny kicks they felt within.
And yet, every day Hatshepsut sent silent prayers to the goddesses, begging for a daughter for her friend. And a son for her.
But Hatshepsut also thanked the gods for Aset. Time hadn’t dulled the void left by Senenmut’s death, but she tried to comfort herself with the idea of him in the Field of Reeds, preferably shoveling dung, as he’d once joked about. She wanted him happy in the afterlife, but not too happy, not since he had planned to abandon her anyway.
Everything was as the gods willed it.
Now if only she could make herself believe that.
She was tying the bow on the linen wrapping hiding a pair of turquoise scarab earrings—a gift for Aset—when a frantic pounding at her door startled her. The package slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor. Alarmed, she squatted to retrieve it as Sitre opened the door.
Aset stood in the courtyard, face flushed in the morning sunlight as she clutched her swollen belly, her waters breaking and raining down upon the tiles. She opened her mouth to speak, but a spasm of pain tightened her distended stomach and her fingers gripped the wood of the doorframe, knuckles as pale as the moon while she mouthed a prayer to Taweret.
“Help me move her,” Sitre said.
Hatshepsut grimaced as Aset transferred her viselike grip from the doorframe to the soft flesh of Hatshepsut’s arm.
“Help me!” Aset’s primal cry rent the air as the three women shuffled inside.
Those two words sent a dagger of fear into Hatshepsut’s heart and she recited her own silent prayer to the hippo goddess of childbirth. This was what she would endure a few short months from now. She could rule all of Egypt, but the threat of childbed terrified her.
It wasn’t the first time she wished she’d been born a man.
“This way.” Sitre led Aset to Hatshepsut’s bed and helped her kneel so the bed supported her upper body.
“Is this it?” Aset’s voice was small, her face half-buried in the feathered mattress.
Sitre took her station behind Aset and rubbed her back to relax her. “Your waters broke, Aset. Taweret willing, your babe will be born soon.” She looked to Hatshepsut. “The child is early, but the birthing pavilion was arranged a few days ago, wasn’t it?”
Hatshepsut nodded. “Should we move her?”
Aset whimpered as the next pain began. “What about the midwife?”
“You’ll be fine,” Hatshepsut said. “Sitre has delivered plenty of babies.” Aset didn’t need to know that the last one had been seventeen years ago and now stood awaiting instruction from her menat.
“Aset, I need to see how far along the baby is.” Sitre washed her hands in a basin. “That way we’ll know if we can move you.” Aset moaned in response, a birth pain full upon her. Sitre patiently waited for it to pass, then felt for the babe’s head. Her eyes widened in surprise and a ready grin split her lips to reveal two rows of crooked teeth. “This child is ready to enter the world. It’s time for the blocks.”
“I can’t,” Aset moaned. “It’s not time.”
Hatshepsut had never felt more useless. Sitre returned to her position to knead Aset’s back. “We need the blocks.”
Aset wailed in agony.
“I’ll get them,” Hatshepsut said.
She flew to the birthing pavilion, a darkened arbor off the Hall of Women used by scores of women over the years to deliver royal infants. It was customary to give birth outside so the blood of life could return to the earth, and also to allow the desert breezes to confuse the demons from the netherworld that sought to steal the kas of the mother and child. One bright morning seventeen years ago, surrounded by Sitre and the goddesses, Ahmose had given birth to Hatshepsut. The pavilion held only the few accoutrements necessary for the impending royal birth: an ivory clapper to ward off evil spirits, a pile of amulets to Hathor and Taweret, a large clay bowl, plenty of fresh linens, and the birthing blocks. The bricks were gaily painted with vibrant scenes of happy new mothers surrounded by the bevy of gods and goddesses called upon for a safe delivery. This was dangerous work Aset embarked upon, one that many women never returned from, claimed instead by Anubis.
Hatshepsut pocketed several amulets and an ivory clapper, then hurried back to her own chambers with the bricks.
Aset was still draped across Hatshepsut’s bed, moaning and writhing from side to side as if to shake the babe from her swollen body. Sitre took the blocks from Hatshepsut. “This babe is in a hurry.”
“Come to the blocks.” Hatshepsut wrapped her arms around Aset’s waist to help her stand and positioned her feet squarely on the blocks. “Taweret will keep you safe.” She looped one of the amulets around Aset’s neck and placed two more at her feet.
Aset squatted, sitting on the blocks and howling with each pain. It didn’t take long before the head emerged, a dark swirl of hair followed immediately by the rest of the body.
A boy.
Hatshepsut snapped the ivory clapper together so that the loud crack would scare off any spirits seeking to harm Aset or her son. The flood of disappointment that surged through her was thrust aside at Sitre’s next words.
“The cord.”
The umbilical cord, pulsing with Aset’s blood, was wrapped tight around the child’s neck. The baby’s face matched the blue of the cord. He still hadn’t made a sound.
“What’s wrong?” Terror made Aset’s pupils huge as Sitre untangled her son and massaged his chest.
Hatshepsut pushed sweaty tendrils of hair from Aset’s eyes and blocked her view with her body. “Everything’s going to be fine. Give Sitre a moment.”
Aset tried to shove her away. “Let me see my son!”
Hatshepsut sent a prayer to Isis to spare the child just as she heard the first cry. The child opened his little pink mouth and howled at having be
en so rudely expelled from the comfort of his mother’s womb. They didn’t need a priestess or the seven Hathors to decipher the child’s destiny. His first sound had been a gusty “Ny!” and not the ill-fated “Mbi!”
Aset’s son would live.
“Congratulations.” Hatshepsut wanted to cry and laugh at the same time as she hugged her friend and helped her off the blocks to the waiting bed. Sitre cut the umbilical cord with a bronze knife, wrapped the infant in white linen, and handed the precious parcel over to Aset’s waiting arms. The child nursed greedily, sucking loudly and leaving all three women to marvel at the perfect fingers and toes, the whorl of dark hair on his crown tangled with traces of the womb.
“Thank the nine gods he was early,” Sitre muttered under her breath, so quietly that Aset couldn’t hear. “If the babe was any bigger, he’d never have made it out. We would have lost them both.”
“Thank the gods,” Hatshepsut repeated.
The entire court waited to hear news of this birth. Hatshepsut was tired and Re hadn’t even reached the pinnacle of Nut’s belly. Aset must be exhausted.
“Thut will want to know he’s the father of a healthy baby boy.” Hatshepsut hoped no one would notice the note of envy that crept into her voice. The eldest son would not be hers. She had failed yet again.
“Thank you. For everything.” Aset barely looked up from her baby as she nibbled the traditional honey cake that all new mothers ate to keep demons from the netherworld at bay. The monsters walked upside down, had mouths for anuses, and ate their own feces, but were repulsed by the sweet taste of honey. Aset would have been a tempting target for them, her cheeks flushed and brown hair lit with a halo in Re’s afternoon light.
Hatshepsut left them to dream together. To her surprise, she found Thut waiting in the hallway. He leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, but straightened as she closed the door, a soldier on alert. She caught a whiff of natron, a sign that he had purified himself for Taweret.
“How is she?” he asked, arms clamped in front of his chest.
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