“Aset is well. She’s resting now.”
“And the child?” He took a step toward the door, but stopped short.
“You have your son.”
His face was transformed. He whooped and pulled Hatshepsut into a giant hug, lifting her off her feet and spinning around. She laughed with him, feeling for a moment like the old times, before they were married and everything fell apart. His sentiment would echo through the kingdom as fast as a falcon’s flight, an unstoppable wave spreading to every farmer and fisherman along the Nile. Hatshepsut only wished she were the instrument of such joy. But her time would soon approach, and, with any luck, her fully royal son, the true heir, would be welcomed with the same joy.
Thutmosis shoved open the door and strode into the room. “I want to see my son!”
He planted a kiss on Aset’s forehead and plucked the sleeping infant from her arms. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive, Aset. I love you.”
Standing forgotten in the doorway, Hatshepsut turned to go, embarrassed to intrude on such an intimate scene. Thut’s next words stopped her in her tracks.
“His name will be Tutmose.”
Their father’s name. The name Hatshepsut planned to call the son of her own body. Instead, her brother had bestowed that precious gift upon the child of a common-born dancer. As much as she loved Aset, she couldn’t swallow the slight.
She stepped back into the room. “That was the name I’d chosen for my child, should the gods grace me with a son.”
Thut and Aset looked up from their happy cocoon. Her brother shrugged. “Your child will have a different name, one blessed by the priests.” He hugged his son to his chest and pressed his lips to the baby’s forehead. “But this, my firstborn, is Tutmose.”
Hatshepsut’s face tightened. Either Thut was being deliberately cruel or incredibly thoughtless. “May we discuss this later?” she asked. This discussion would end in disaster if she continued now.
Thut shook his head, his gaze fastened on Aset and his tiny son. “There’s nothing to discuss. It’s only right that my firstborn should carry our father’s name. We’ll find another name for your child.” His eyes swept over her rounded belly. “And who knows? You may bear a girl.”
He’d already deemed her a failure.
Hatshepsut’s hands ached to slap him, claw his eyes, and make him take back those horrible words. Aset’s huge brown eyes implored Hatshepsut to let the matter drop.
Gnashing her teeth, she forced herself to concede. She would never win now that Thut had made up his mind. It was small consolation to know that Ma’at would judge him harshly for this one day when he passed to the West. Ammit might devour Thut’s heart before he reached the afterlife, but Hatshepsut would make him regret this move in this life.
She blinked back hot tears.
“As you wish,” she whispered.
Chapter 13
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
The Royal Physician cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one hip to the other. “I took the sample of your urine and sprinkled it on both the barley and emmer seeds. The test is not always accurate, but if the barley sprouted, the child would almost surely be a boy.”
“And if the wheat were to sprout—”
“The child would likely be a girl.”
“And which was it?”
Gua frowned. He pursed his lips together, holding back the words Hatshepsut so desperately wanted to hear. Finally he heaved his shoulders into a shrug. “Both the barley and wheat have sprouted, Hemet. The test is inconclusive.”
Hatshepsut closed her eyes against her disappointment. She had known the test would likely be futile, but she was weary of watching Thut parade Aset’s son before her.
With Aset’s dancer’s figure returned, she had been welcomed back into Thut’s bed as soon as her period of purification had ended. Then, just a few nights ago, she had crawled into bed next to Hatshepsut, her feet cold and her skin prickled with gooseflesh.
“Enheduanna is pregnant,” she whispered. Her hot tears spread in a stain upon Hatshepsut’s back. “He sent me away to spend the night with her. What if she has a boy?”
And what if Hatshepsut had a girl? Nothing would ever be the same.
But she had smiled and dried Aset’s tears, patted her hand. “Thut will always love you and your son. Only the gods know what will happen.”
“I love you, Hatshepsut.” Aset had wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “And I’ve been doing everything I can to convince Thutmosis to forgive you. He’ll come around eventually—I know it.”
And yet so far he hadn’t.
The past month had been torture and now there would be two more months to endure before Hatshepsut would know whether she was mother to a royal princess or the future hawk in the nest.
“Thank you.” She motioned to Mouse to show the physician from her chambers, then rubbed her belly. “You’re going to keep me in suspense, aren’t you?”
There was a resounding kick against her hand. She giggled and patted the spot. It shouldn’t matter if she had a boy or girl; she would love this child no matter what.
But it would be better if it was a boy.
• • •
When her time came there were no gushing waters or screams. The net of henna tattoos painted on her abdomen had done its duty to keep the child tucked safely within her womb until the babe was ready to emerge. Those painted ochre threads were stretched to their breaking point as Hatshepsut’s labor began. Surrounded by Sitre, Mouse, and her own mother, she clamped her lips against the screams that threatened to break as she strained and struggled for two full days to bring new life into the world. It wasn’t until the full moon that her child decided to be born, the smell of warm earth and flowers wafting through the night air to mingle with the salty scent of sweat from Hatshepsut’s skin. Finally, in the darkened arbor of the birthing pavilion, supported by the same bricks that had held Aset, she felt a perfectly formed and healthy baby slide from her womb and into Sitre’s dark hands.
A girl.
Hatshepsut startled as Sitre snapped the ivory clapper. Her daughter whimpered, but the sound was an icy fist around Hatshepsut’s heart.
“Mbi!”
Quiet, but unmistakable. The first cry of a child bound to die.
Hatshepsut hushed her with kisses and a hennaed nipple. Wide-eyed, her daughter suckled greedily, scarcely the demeanor of a babe about to be claimed by Anubis.
Hatshepsut was enraptured with the little creature as tears streamed down her cheeks and she looked into eyes as bright as Nut’s belly. The tiny girl yawned and clutched her mother’s finger with the strength of one much bigger than she.
She would not die. Anubis would have to claim Hatshepsut before he could tear her daughter into the afterlife.
Sitre looped an ivory amulet of a rising moon around Hatshepsut’s neck, and her mother left to seek the pharaoh and inform him of the birth of his daughter. Thut arrived dressed in a sleeping robe and as rumpled as if Ahmose had pulled him from bed herself. She probably had. The kohl around his eyes was smudged; he had either been sleeping or otherwise engaged, likely with Aset or Princess Enheduanna. Perhaps both.
Regardless, Thut hadn’t been waiting outside her door as he had for Aset. That stung more than Hatshepsut would ever admit.
She set aside the honey cake she’d been nibbling and the other women shuffled from the garden. Thut frowned and held the baby far from his chest. His daughter stared at him with wide eyes and whimpered once but didn’t cry. “She has your nose and lips,” he said.
“And your ears.”
“Perhaps.” He handed the bundle back as if the baby had been possessed by an upside-down demon. At least he had held her long enough to claim her as his own. His gaze slid toward the gate.
“I won’t keep you any longer.” Hatshepsut hugged her daughter close, breathed in the new scent of her.
“You’ll have a boy next time.” Thutmosis offered the platitude
as he would a trinket. “I’m glad to see you’ve delivered safely.”
“Neferure and I are fine, thank you.” The name she had chosen for her daughter rolled from her tongue—“Beauty of Re,” one of the sweetest sounds she had ever heard. This baby would be her sunshine, the radiant light in a life that had been gray until now. She refused to ask for Thut’s approval of the name, still stinging from his theft of their father’s name. She had carried and birthed the child; she would name her daughter, Thutmosis be damned.
“Neferure?” His eyebrow arched. He seemed poised to attack the name, but his gaze darted to the gate once again. “I suppose the name will suffice.”
Their daughter chose that moment to cry, the tiny mewl of a kitten that made Hatshepsut’s breasts tingle with a rush of milk. She positioned Neferure to nurse, but Thut grabbed her hand. The baby howled, but her father ignored her.
“What are you doing?” Infuriated, Hatshepsut swatted his hand away, but Thut pulled Neferure from her arms. The child’s cries brought a regiment of women armed with angry scowls. Ahmose, Sitre, and Mouse all looked ready to attack if Thut didn’t release the infant.
“You’re not thinking of feeding her yourself, are you?” Thut asked. Neferure’s face was now as red as the radishes that grew in the palace garden.
“I most certainly am,” Hatshepsut replied. She reached for the child, but Thut held her just out of reach. Had the battered flesh between her legs not protested, she’d have lunged from the bed to throttle him.
He thrust the wailing infant into Sitre’s arms and shook his head at Hatshepsut. “You will bind your breasts, and as soon as Gua deems you ready, you’ll be back in my bed again. I will get a son on you and, in the meantime, a wet nurse will be found to feed this girl.”
Hatshepsut’s fingernails bit into her palms. “I will do as I wish with my body. You have no right—”
“I have every right.” Thut’s voice rose above their daughter’s howls. “And you would do well to remember it.” He strode to the gate, pausing only to fling his last order to Sitre. “See to it that a wet nurse is found for the child tonight.”
The gate slammed. Ahmose was the first to move. She took Neferure from Sitre’s arms and brought her to Hatshepsut.
“There’s no reason you can’t take care of her now.” She murmured the rebellious words as if she feared her stepson might overhear. “You have fourteen days of cleansing, far from Thutmosis’ eyes.”
Hot tears trickled down Hatshepsut’s cheeks. Her mother wiped them away with her thumb. “It’s hard, Hatshepsut, but bearing the pharaoh’s son is your duty.”
“I hate him.” Hatshepsut finally dared to say the words aloud. She had admitted her mistake to Thut, had more than paid the price. Still he tormented her. “I hate him more and more with every day.”
“Don’t think about the pharaoh right now,” Sitre said. “Think about your perfect daughter instead.”
She was right. Neferure yawned, her tiny pink hand splayed over Hatshepsut’s pale breast like a little lotus blossom. The trace of her daughter’s eyelashes fluttered against the softest skin she had ever seen.
She had just met this little person, but already she loved her more than anything else in this life. Neferure would be her lasting achievement, her gift to this world.
Nothing Thut could say or do mattered in the face of such perfect love.
Chapter 14
YEAR THREE OF PHARAOH THUTMOSIS II
“Enheduanna is going to have a boy.”
Aset crossed her arms over her breasts, her scowl as black as a desert panther. Neferure and Tutmose squealed, splashing naked in the shallow fountain in the main courtyard of the Hall of Women, Re’s light on the water throwing dancing reflections onto the walls. It was a truly perfect day, no matter the news of the Akkadian princess.
Hatshepsut tucked the edges of her sheath into her belt and kicked off her sandals. “We’re not gods. None of us can predict the future.”
“The Royal Physician predicted she’d have a boy.”
“That’s what Gua predicted for her other babies, too,” she reminded Aset quietly.
Aset’s scowl softened and she almost smiled. “And look how those turned out.”
This latest pregnancy was Enheduanna’s third, the first two having ended in early stillbirths. Gua had been right about both—each was a boy, formed like flawless granite, and, like the perfect stone, destined never to draw a single breath of air.
Despite the girl’s sufferings, Aset refused to have anything to do with the Akkadian princess and managed not to be in the same room with her, but Hatshepsut had attended the burials of both mummified infants, placed amulets on the tiny bodies, and chanted prayers to Anubis for their safe passage to the West.
She might not care for the Akkadian, but not even Enheduanna should have to endure the burden the gods had placed upon her. A haunted woman with empty eyes and pale skin had replaced the haughty princess who had entered the Hall of Women. Enheduanna was no foreign goddess, but a woman like any other.
“We should take her amulets to Taweret.” Hatshepsut tossed off her wig and jumped into the fountain. She swept Neferure into her arms, tickling her slippery ribs and giggling as they chased Tutmose in circles. She shouted over the laughter. “And maybe say some prayers for her.”
Aset rolled her eyes, raising her voice to be heard. “I’ll pray to Hathor that Thutmosis tires of her and sends her on the first boat back to Akkad.”
Hatshepsut glanced up to reprimand her. Enheduanna stood in the courtyard, surrounded by her slaves, close enough they all must have heard Aset.
“I heard screaming.” Enheduanna’s accent was still thick despite her time in Egypt. She tilted her chin in the air, crimson spreading up her chiseled cheekbones. “I thought someone was hurt.”
“Just playing.” Hatshepsut gestured to her dripping sheath with a weak smile. “You’re welcome to join us.”
Enheduanna glared at Aset. “Perhaps some other time.” Then she turned on her heel and stormed off. Girl-slaves still dressed in the Akkadian style trailed behind her like colorful geese, whispering behind their hands as they glanced back at the fountain.
Hatshepsut set down Neferure and handed her a lotus blossom, waiting until Enheduanna’s door had shut behind her before frowning at Aset. “You’re cruel to her.”
“Nothing she doesn’t deserve.” Aset shrugged. She grinned, the dimples she so hated denting her cheeks. “You look ridiculous.”
Hatshepsut bent, scooped water into her hands, and flung it straight at Aset. Her friend shrieked and sputtered as Hatshepsut swept one laughing child under each arm and ran. Aset gave chase, their golden laughter scattering cats and echoing through the courtyard.
Like Enheduanna’s, Hatshepsut’s life was different than she’d imagined, and it had its share of hardships. But she had physical comforts, a beautiful daughter, and a friend she loved.
That was much more than some women could claim.
• • •
The haunted woman disappeared, replaced with one in perfect health and vibrant motherhood. Enheduanna’s skin glowed, her hips spread, and her breasts and stomach swelled. Yet one morning she took to her bed, complaining of a headache. When Hatshepsut stopped by at dusk, the room was as warm and dark as a womb. She’d brought a tonic of honey and chamomile, but the unconscious concubine burned with fever, her skin flushed and breathing ragged.
“Can I do anything to help?” she asked Gua.
“Pray for her.” The Royal Physician sighed and packed up his leather satchel, leaving a golden Eye of Horus on Enheduanna’s forehead. “You might stay with her so she’s not alone.”
She sat with Enheduanna, but not by herself. She sent for Aset.
“I came only to see if the rumors are true.” Aset stayed by the doorway, her nose wrinkled at the rancid smell of death. Anubis lurked in the dark corner, patiently awaiting his prize. “I’m not staying.”
“Not only are you stayin
g,” Hatshepsut said, motioning toward a pile of fresh linen, “but you’re also going to use those towels to wash her.”
“Why in the name of Hathor would I do such a thing?”
“Because it’s the decent thing to do. And then you’ll be able to tell Thut that you helped nurse poor Enheduanna back to health. He’ll sing your praises to eternity.”
There was a long silence, then a dramatic sigh. Aset tossed a towel in a golden ewer of water, barely wrung out the linen, and slapped it on Enheduanna’s forehead. She gave the concubine’s hand a perfunctory pat. “There, there,” she said to the unconscious girl. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
She was wrong. By nightfall Enheduanna’s body was cold, she and the unborn babe both claimed by the jackal god of death.
Hatshepsut and Aset folded Enheduanna’s arms over her swollen stomach, then chanted prayers as the priests of Anubis slunk away into the night with the body. At least Enheduanna would receive a decent burial here in Egypt, not sewn into the skin of a ram and tossed into a barren pit as would have happened in her homeland.
“Sekhmet’s breath,” Aset whispered as they watched them go. “I feel terrible. Guilty, actually.”
Hatshepsut glanced about the dim chambers, strewn with damp towels and amulets. Anubis’ stench overwhelmed Enheduanna’s musk perfume. “Guilty? Why?”
“I hated her, wished her dead more than once.” Aset choked and clutched Hatshepsut’s hand. “But I didn’t mean it. You don’t think the gods heard me, do you?”
Hatshepsut squeezed her hand. “The gods do as they wish. Nothing we say or do can sway them once they’ve made up their minds.”
She’d learned that the hard way.
• • •
“Neferure! Be careful!”
Hatshepsut bolted off her chair. Her daughter stood on tiptoe below a rickety shelf, about to pull a rack of ancient papyrus down upon her head. She scooped the little girl into her arms and righted the shelf, feeling the prickle of her daughter’s shaven head against her cheek. The clump of hair on Neferure’s scalp was scarcely long enough to gather into a youth lock on the side of her head, the fine strands of mahogany woven into a tiny braid and tied with a jaunty yellow string.
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