Daughter of the Gods: A Novel of Ancient Egypt

by Stephanie Thornton

  “We are honored by your attention,” Hatshepsut called as the skiff reached the shore. “May the gods bless your city!”

  The mayor presented her with a papyrus collar woven with fragrant cornflower and blue lotus blossoms, looping it over her neck before both her feet touched shore. In his haste he almost knocked the wig from her head, not that she’d have minded the excuse to drop the thing into the Nile. Tutmose grimaced when the mayor offered him a smaller necklace, but he ducked his head when Aset frowned at him.

  Chariots and sedan chairs formed a line at the end of the dock, a multitude of shapes and sizes likely apprehended from every possible source within the city. Hatshepsut chose one of the chariots, as litters hoisted Aset and the children aloft. The procession wove its way through the riotous crowd and down streets so narrow she could have touched both walls had she spread her arms. They passed whitewashed mud-brick homes, most with tables or beds on their roofs. Nubt’s citizens peered down to catch sight of the pharaoh and regent, a story to pass on to their children and grandchildren for years to come, and showered them with a rain of cornflower petals. The narrow alleys opened up as they entered the town center. Dusty market stalls had been hastily shoved into doorways and the ground swept clean of most of the animal dung, although a bag of dried lentils had been spilled and forgotten. Garlands of fuchsia lotus blossoms draped every tree and building to imbue the air with a heavenly perfume. Thousands of tiny lamps with dancing flames lined the square, and tables covered with linen cloths had been set for dinner. Jugglers, acrobats, and musicians huddled to the side, waiting with an entire program of entertainment.

  Hatshepsut allowed the mayor to lead her to the largest of the tables. She had lost sight of Senenmut in the crowd, and Aset and the children were seated at the very end of her table, far out of earshot as the volume of voices reached a steady hum. Seated in the middle, with the mayor and Ineni on either side of her, Hatshepsut found that the giant plates of marinated olives, steaming mashed turnips, freshly baked bread, and roast quail stuffed with cloves of garlic made her stomach groan in anticipation. She’d spent the day sorting through allocation requests from the gods’ temples and had forgotten to eat. The mayor tore off a quail’s leg and offered it to her; she happily accepted.

  “Did you have fair weather?” he asked, his hands aflutter. “This time of year is usually pleasant sailing, but one never can tell. And I’ve heard dreadful stories of those nasty hippos upsetting more than one boat. Of course, I’ve never left Nubt—born and bred—but word does travel. Do you have turnips this flavorful in the City of Truth? I don’t imagine you do—Nubt is known all down the Nile for having the best turnips in all Egypt. Now that the gold has run out it’s our claim to fame, that and the temple, of course. And with the garlic? I doubt the gods could create a better-tasting dish! But listen to me! It isn’t my desire to flow on like the Inundation.”

  The man never once paused for breath. He didn’t eat more than two bites from the time they sat down, and those must have been swallowed whole. Fortunately, nodding hadn’t precluded Hatshepsut from helping herself, and now she was full, despite having picked around the turnips. She hated turnips.

  “Is the Temple of Set open this evening?” Hatshepsut took advantage of a rare pause to interrupt the mayor.

  His head bounced up and down like one of Neferure’s toy balls. “For you, the temple can be opened at any time.”

  “I hear it’s an architectural marvel.” She dangled the bait before him. “Ineni here is my chief architect and would love to hear all about it.” She grinned at her portly adviser’s pained expression and stood. Silence fell over the gathering. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll take some air on my own.”

  The chatter continued as Nomti fell into step behind Hatshepsut. This was an opportunity she wasn’t going to miss, to view the temple alone and in the shrouded darkness of night instead of in the glare of day.

  The temple’s white walls loomed high over the square, even in the gloom. Two glowing yellow eyes glared down at her from the top of the gate, a scrawny temple cat with two gold hoops in its ears who likely wished it could trade Egypt’s regent for a plump mouse. The stars twinkled brightly, easier to see now against the crisp darkness of the sky without the dull glow of the city’s lamps. The temple was deserted, so Nomti remained at the entrance of the outer gate so Hatshepsut could wander alone. Even the offices of the High Priest matched the darkness of Nut’s belly. Beyond the sprawling plaza stood the main temple itself, its massive hypostyle hall filled with papyrus-topped columns the height of ten full-grown men. Most Egyptian monuments were crammed from floor to ceiling with adulations of the gods or lively scenes reenacted for the benefit of the dead, but here the temple walls were bare, unfinished. Puzzled, Hatshepsut ran her hands over the smooth granite, still warm from Re’s heat.

  “The walls are as bare as the desert, the barren domain of Set.” Senenmut stepped into one of the rectangular shafts of moonlight that filtered through the open roof and leaned against a granite column, arms crossed in front of him. “Shouldn’t you be back at the square, learning more about turnips?”

  She groaned. “I am now an expert on everything to do with the wretched things.”

  He shot her the crooked smile she loved so much. “So I heard.”

  They were finally alone. She let herself be pulled into his arms, savored the taste of wine on his lips.

  “I see someone missed me.” Senenmut chuckled.

  “Shut up and kiss me.”

  He did.

  They undressed each other and made love slowly, her back pressed into the flagstones as he hovered over her, bringing her to the edge of ecstasy several times before they finally fell over the precipice together, their sweat-slicked bodies clinging to each other as they gasped at their shared pleasure. Afterward, they sat twined together on the ground at the base of a pillar, her back against his bare chest and their legs stretched toward Set’s outer courtyard.

  “I told Aset about us.”

  Senenmut didn’t answer at first, but his fingers stopped stroking her hair. “And?”

  “She wasn’t happy.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “She’ll come around. Hathor is her patron goddess, after all.” She leaned her head back and looked up into Nut’s black belly, the stars glowing like dull marbles through wisps of clouds. Now was probably as good a time as any to tell him. “There’s something else.”

  He made a questioning noise in the back of his throat, the sound vibrating into her spine.

  “I think I’m pregnant.”

  He stiffened behind her and perfect silence settled over the courtyard, as if the gods waited to hear his reaction. She held her breath, her lungs close to bursting.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded, unable to trust her voice.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy.” He pulled her tight, the joy rippling from his body in waves. His grip loosened. “What about you? Are you happy?”

  She hesitated, then nodded, surprised at the truth. The terror was still there, but somehow it was smaller in the face of his joy. “Yes. Although this does complicate things.”

  “Children always complicate things.” He chuckled. “Just ask my mother.”

  She smiled, leaned back into his chest. “She did have six. That’s more than enough complications for anyone.”

  Laughter rumbled in his chest. “I’d give you at least a dozen if I could.”

  “Gods, I hope not.” Not that many, but one or maybe two. Perhaps Egypt could handle that. “Your mother wasn’t regent, you know.”

  “I know. Everything is as the gods will it, Hatshepsut.” He twined his fingers with hers. “There is always order amongst the chaos, even when it’s not possible to see. Set somehow always manages to push his way into life; there are things you can’t predict or control.”

  “Perhaps for you mere mortals.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve decided you’re a
goddess now.” Senenmut laughed. “Egypt was almost destroyed by the first Sekhmet; she would certainly crumble before two lion goddesses.”

  Hatshepsut touched the amulet of the lion goddess at her neck. “Not a goddess, but no longer a plaything of the gods either. I control my own life now.” It was a bold statement, but she’d spent too many years cowering before Hathor, Taweret, and Isis. She glanced toward the towering statues of Set at the entrance: curved snouts, pricked ears, and forked tails. He wasn’t a god she wished to offend. “I still honor the gods, of course.”

  “I forgot that none of the rules of this life apply to you.” Senenmut stroked the back of her neck, making her shiver and her skin prickle with gooseflesh. “Remind me to make sacrifices to Set on your behalf. Just in case.”

  “There’s more to pleasing the gods than slaughtering bulls and lighting incense.” Like this temple they sat in. “If I could, I would cover Egypt with monuments to the gods.”

  “With your name on them, too, I suppose.”

  “Naturally.” She glanced around, happy to be able to see something her father had made, built of solid granite that would last to eternity. “Do you know what my favorite part is?”

  “The blank walls?”

  Hatshepsut chuckled. “No, not the walls.” She looked up at the stars twinkling overhead. “The sky. The stars and the sun are always here, but always moving. I think Set would approve of the orderly chaos.”

  “And Sekhmet, too.”

  “She does like the sun.”

  “I know.” His chest rumbled with laughter. “Do you remember the knife I gave you?”

  “How could I forget?” She groaned and her cheeks flushed despite the cool air, recalling the hymn to the lion goddess painstakingly etched into its ivory handle. She really had been terrible to Senenmut then, but he had never given up on her. Sometimes she didn’t think she deserved him, but then she remembered how alike they were.

  “I still can’t believe you gave it away. In front of me.”

  “You deserved it.”

  He chuckled. “You’re probably right. But it took a damn long time to carve that handle.”

  “Perhaps you can make me another someday.”

  “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

  “Always.” She nestled deeper into the crook of his arm. The gods had given her an incredible gift in Senenmut, and another one growing in her belly. She wondered if she dared trespass upon them further.

  “There’s something else I want, Senenmut.”

  He chuckled and she felt his lips on her temple. “And what might that be?”

  She waited a moment, listened to the words growing ever louder in her mind. She’d never spoken them aloud before, but they had been her constant companions since the day of Tutmose’s coronation.

  “I want to be pharaoh.”

  The silence stretched so long that Hatshepsut wondered if she had shocked the words out of him. Finally, he rubbed his jaw. “I know you do.”

  She straightened, needing to see his face. “What?”

  He shook his head. “You call me ambitious, but you’re the most driven person I’ve ever met.” She gave him a mock punch and he smiled, then grew sober. “Still, Hatshepsut, you must realize—”

  “That I can only ever be regent.” She clenched her fists and drew a ragged breath. “If I’d been born a boy—”

  He chuckled. “I, for one, am quite happy that the gods made you otherwise.”

  She ignored his attempt at levity. “It’s not fair that I can’t rule simply because I’m a woman.”

  “I know, nefersha.” He pulled her back to her place against his chest, the stars twinkling overhead. “This life is rarely fair, yet I know two things for certain.”

  “And those are?”

  “First, that the gods favor you above all their other children. Be content with that, and perhaps they’ll surprise you one day. And second, if you ever did sit upon the Isis Throne, I’d be your most ardent supporter.”

  “Really?” Senenmut loved her, but she hadn’t anticipated that he’d even entertain the idea of her wearing the double crown.

  “Of course.” Laughter rumbled in his chest. “What man wouldn’t want the pharaoh of Egypt in his bed?”

  • • •

  The expedition continued down the Nile toward Giza. At Asyût, reed flutes and castanets played as women danced along the banks to honor Mut and Taweret, the goddesses of motherhood and fertility. Girl-slaves lined the boats to shout at crowds of women on the shore, and both groups hitched up their sheaths to expose themselves, absorbing the fertility of the Black Land. The men politely pretended not to notice. Most of them, at least.

  The trip continued in a more sedate manner after that, scheduled to end at the ancient pyramids before beginning the return trip to Waset. Senenmut had drawn the children a picture of the Sphinx with its pharaoh’s head, and Tutmose and Neferure spent several days roaring like lions and pretending to be giant statues.

  Most nights when Hatshepsut retired to her cabin, it was to discover folded scraps of papyrus that Senenmut had hidden in empty perfume pots or under her headrest. They contained tiny bits of poetry scrawled in the nearly illegible handwriting she so adored. Some brought tears of joy to her eyes, and still others made her laugh out loud.

  I love you more than the everlasting earth,

  And worship at the temple of your body.

  The goddesses are bound together in you,

  Fearsome Sekhmet,

  The Great Mother Taweret,

  Cunning Isis,

  Even pliant Hathor.

  There was one he dared slip to her while they prayed at the Temple of Thoth—Senenmut’s patron god—in the city of Khmun, home of the baboon-headed god of wisdom.

  Atum ascended from the waters of chaos

  And bound together the elements of the world.

  So your love has transformed me

  Because we go together.

  And her favorite:

  Your voice is sweet wine;

  I live to hear it.

  To see you with each look

  Is better than bread or beer.

  Get thee to my bed, woman,

  Lest I waste away!

  That one had been passed under the table after a night spent drinking pomegranate wine and feasting on fresh river catfish, surrounded by all the nobles from both barges. She and Senenmut had slipped away to her cabin and devoured each other in a furious bout of lovemaking that left her body aching for more. Aset had pursed her lips when Hatshepsut had returned to the banquet alone, then motioned for her to straighten her wig.

  Hatshepsut treasured each precious letter, tied them all together with a dyed red string and hid them in the bottom of her jewelry box. Perhaps one day she and Senenmut would read them in their old age, and then chase each other to bed. She knew that they would be together as long as the gods willed it, until one of them flew to the West.

  Re had started his battle with Apep by the time the boats reached the sacred necropolis of the pyramids, and Nut’s belly was a soft haze of black. The timeworn monuments glowed in the light of the full moon, a testament to time. Khufu’s Great Pyramid reigned over the plateau, the two smaller pyramids flanking their great king. The Sphinx sat at attention before the monuments, its limestone body aglow with white moonlight, while its painted face was shrouded in shadows.

  The nobles and servants remained aboard their boats, silent witnesses as Nomti rowed Hatshepsut and Tutmose ashore. This sacred land of the dead was typically forbidden to the living, but not to the pharaoh and regent. They went ashore alone and meandered hand in hand through the Sphinx’s red granite temple to pay their respects at Pharaoh Khafre’s mortuary complex. The ancient building had fallen into disrepair, but Hatshepsut left a priceless bag of white frankincense pellets for the ancient pharaoh. She wondered what treasures lay beneath their feet, the tombs of royal mummies and kas of dynasties long since past. They skirted a cluster of smaller pyramid
s partially buried by ancient sand, the final resting places of Egypt’s queens long since dead. These women had been the lucky ones, gifted by their husbands and sons with eternal tombs in recognition of their contribution to their dynasties, but their majesty had been scoured away by centuries of winds, leaving only heaps of mud brick, virtually forgotten.

  Hatshepsut shuddered.

  They stopped walking and she took Tutmose’s hand. Khufu’s colossal pyramid was immense, a living manifestation of Re’s light brought to earth. Tutmose touched the white limestone first, then her hand enveloped his. The rock pulsed with Re’s warmth, despite the crisp night air. Nameless workers long since dead had hauled each massive block and toiled to fit each perfectly into place so the pharaoh could climb to the heavens and meet the gods. The records of his reign might be lost or his mummy destroyed, but the world would always remember Khufu because of this monument he had built. His name would live forever.

  So would hers.

  Tutmose craned his neck to see the pyramid’s pinnacle, no easy feat. “Is it old?”

  “Very old,” Hatshepsut said. “This tomb was ancient many lifetimes ago and will remain here long after we’ve passed to the West. Remember this when you sit upon the Isis Throne. Everything we do is for the glory of Egypt.”

  They retraced their steps. Aset waited for them on board, but the rest of the deck was deserted. Snores drifted from belowdecks—they had been gone longer than Hatshepsut had realized.

  She kissed the top of Tutmose’s head and helped him stumble into his mother’s arms, and stifled a yawn herself. Alone on deck, she watched the pyramids, spellbound, until a heavy cloud shrouded the moon; then she tore herself away and stepped over the girl-slave asleep outside her door. She had almost finished undressing when she felt something warm and wet between her legs.

  A smear of crimson.

  “No. Please, no.” She grabbed her discarded sheath to staunch the blood, curled on her side on the narrow feather mattress. She knew from Enheduanna’s miscarriages that terrible cramping urged a woman’s womb to expel her unborn child. She waited an eternity for the pain, but none came, only the slow and steady flow of blood.