Sovereign of Stars (9 page)

“I fear what it could mean to Egypt, if I were to
leave the station unfilled much longer. I cannot take it up myself;
I am Pharaoh. I cannot perform the ceremonies of both a man and a
woman. I already tread a careful road as it is. I would not risk
the gods' wrath with hubris.”

“I agree that Amun needs a wife, and sooner rather
than later.”

Hatshepsut eyed her mother, making no effort to
disguise the scrutiny in her gaze. She would not re-appoint her
mother to the position. Though it would pain her to deny Ahmose,
she could not risk the gods' displeasure by reinstating a disgraced
God's Wife of Amun to the temple. But in another moment Ahmose went
on speaking, and Hatshepsut released the breath she had not known
she held.

“Why not appoint a woman from the harem? They are
all from good families, loyal to the throne. It would be a great
honor, and doing honor to a powerful house has stood many a Pharaoh
in good stead.”

“I have my fears where that is concerned. If I
extend such an honor to one house, would I not slight a dozen more?
And well do I know that not all the women of the harem are from
loyal houses. If I gave the title to some woman or other, must I
not then strip her of her honors in order to set Neferure in her
place, once she comes of age? It would only breed ill will toward
the throne.”

“Perhaps you are right.”

“Nor will I see Neferure without some prominence at
court.”

“She is King's Daughter. What more prominence can
any girl have?”

Suddenly uncertain, Hatshepsut swallowed a long
draft of her beer.

Ahmose's mouth tightened, but her look was
speculative, not disapproving. “You would make her your heir.”

Hatshepsut pressed her hands to her face, rubbed
hard at her cheeks, her forehead, as if she could scrub away the
buzzing ache, the tension that seemed to fill her body and kas
whenever she turned her thoughts to Neferure. “The throne does need
an heir.”

“Whose throne? Yours or Thutmose’s?”

“Our thrones are one and the same.”

“You know they are not. He is eight years old.”

“One day he will be a man.”

“Until then, you are the sole power of Pharaoh. All
of Egypt knows this is true.”

“Very well. She will be my heir alone, if you like.
My brother died young; I suppose the same fate could befall me.
Though Mut knows I don’t intend to go facing any captives
unarmed.”

“And you will not marry, to produce a royal
son.”

It was not a question, and Hatshepsut knew Ahmose
expected no reply. What possible station could a wedded husband
hold? Such a presence at court would only underscore the
strangeness of Hatshepsut on the throne and undermine her power.
Dissolution of maat would quickly follow. And because she could not
marry, she could not birth an heir.

Ahmose fiddled with her supper knife, moving her
portion of duck about her bowl. “I suppose it is to be expected, a
female king with a female heir. And what of Thutmose?”

“He will sire his own heir one day.”

“Two heirs to the throne, each the child of a ruling
Pharaoh? Hatshepsut, you know this folly. This would endanger the
peace of Egypt.”

“And yet Thutmose is already a king. He cannot be my
heir; he rules already, in whatever small capacity a child may
rule.”

“This skein has grown rather tangled.”

Hatshepsut sighed. “What choices do I have?”

“Take no heir. Leave the throne entirely to
Thutmose, and his own heir, when you go to the Field of Reeds.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps? Any other decision would endanger the
peace you fought for in Kush. Would you pit your own children
against one another? Your grandchildren? Would you tear Egypt apart
with civil war to satisfy your own pride?”

“Pride?” Hatshepsut returned, wounded.

“What else shall I call it?”

“Maat,” Hatshepsut insisted. “Amun came to you,
Mother, to beget a king. The god did not appear to Mutnofret, nor
to Iset. I love Little Tut, but it is I whom the gods have chosen.
It is my blood that must continue on the throne.”

“Then marry Neferure to Thutmose. Let an heir of
your own blood come about through marriage. Let it be your
grandchild – a son or a daughter, if you like, but do not pit your
children against one another.”

“Amun would not allow me to choose wrongly.”

“Is that what you believe?” Ahmose laughed, a bitter
sound. “If only the gods were so decisive. If only they spoke to us
so clearly. Even the god-chosen cannot afford such reckless
certainty, Hatshepsut.”

They fell silent. The copper chimed in the trees, a
small and forlorn sound.

At last Hatshepsut said, “There is no pressing need
to name an heir yet. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am. Amun will
reveal his truth in due time.”

Ahmose nodded her acquiescence.

“But Neferure must be the God's Wife,” Hatshepsut
went on emphatically. “She will take simple tasks, to start. Egypt
must have a living consort to Amun as soon as possible, for the
sake of maat; on that, you and I can agree. I will begin teaching
her the temple songs, the easiest dances, the prayers. And I hope
it will be enough to appease the gods.”

With effort, they changed the subject, and
progressed their way through the final courses of their supper. The
pleasant coolness of evening settled across the garden. Servants
moved through the stillness, setting lamps upon bronze tripods
along the paths. Moths, attracted to the lights, fluttered here and
there. The shadows of their great, soft wings fell across Ahmose’s
face as mother and daughter conversed over a sweet course of figs
stewed in milk. At last, pulling her shawl close about her
shoulders, Ahmose rose from her seat.

“I must be on my way, Majesty. I am no longer a
priestess, but still the gods expect my prayers before the night
grows too late. The duties of the god-chosen are never done.”

Hatshepsut embraced her. Ahmose’s shoulders were
thin beneath her hands. “It was good to see you, Mother.”

As Ahmose led her women from the Pharaoh’s garden,
Hatshepsut listened to the chimes in the trees. They spoke soft and
insistent as the voice inside her own heart.
Amun will not allow
me to fail. If he wills it, it will come to pass. My mother and my
daughter both may be god-chosen, but I am the son of the
god.

CHAPTER TEN

Hebenu. Yes, that will be the next.

Neferure sat motionless on her minor throne, back
straight and eyes forward, gazing down upon the great hall with a
serene face as a good King's Daughter ought, but the thoughts of
her heart were many days’ journey away. For the past year, ever
since her appointment as God’s Wife of Amun, she had been absorbed
with the restoration of her temples. She often thought of them that
way –
her
temples – though of course they belonged to the
gods, and Neferure was but their loving servant.

Now and then she would wake in the night to the
sound of an indistinct whisper and would lie in her bed straining
to hear more. At such times she would think about her temples, and
wonder why she felt no fear at calling them hers. A wise girl would
be fearful. One did not stake a claim on that which belonged by
rights to the gods. But Neferure had never feared the gods.

Oh, she was certain the gods could be wrathful when
they were displeased. The histories Senenmut taught her were full
of tales of angry gods. If they were angry with men, then the river
failed to rise, and people starved by the thousands. Or illnesses
swept through the Two Lands. Or one god or another would lend his
strength to enemies – or deny his strength to Egypt; Neferure was
never sure which – and Egypt would be invaded. So many terrible
things could happen if the Holy Ones were not properly appeased.
But this small thing – Neferure and her temples – did not displease
them. She was certain of it.

Hebenu. Pakhet's temple there has been in ruins for
generations. Senenmut said so.

On the great Pharaoh's throne, Hatshepsut gave some
command or other, and the stewards scurried about the hall like
scarabs in the sun, blundering and worried and frantic, the way
stewards always were. Neferure tried not to sigh at the monotony of
court. She clung doggedly to her thoughts of Pakhet and her
long-wrecked temple.

What did Senenmut tell me of the place? Hebenu is
far to the south, and Pakhet guards the great ravine that is...
she struggled to recall the words of her tutor's lesson. ...
that
is scoured by the flash floods.
In her imagination it seemed a
dangerous, wild place, just steps away from the heat and dry
desolation of the Red Land. A fitting locale for Pakhet, She Who
Scratches, the lioness who was so like the fierce warrior-goddess
Sekhmet.
She is a sister to Sekhmet. If I restore her temple and
make it beautiful again, not only Pakhet will be pleased, but
Sekhmet, too.
The thought was accompanied by a deep, pulsing
thrill inside her belly, below the place where her heart beat. Her
grandmother Ahmose had been teaching her near as much as Senenmut.
Neferure knew enough by now to recognize the assurance that only
the god-chosen can feel.
It is right – it is maat. My heart
tells me so. Pakhet's temple at Hebenu will be next, and Sekhmet's
wrath will be stilled.

She would give the order to Senenmut as soon as
court was finished.

A year ago, shortly after she had tried to make her
mother see the folly of tearing down the former king's uncarved
gateway, Senenmut had arranged for Neferure to turn her energies to
the restoration of the many old, ruined temples throughout the Two
Lands. It was a sop to her disappointment and helplessness at being
cornered into the station of God's Wife of Amun. She knew that, and
at first she had tried to be displeased with her tutor for thinking
he could soothe her so easily. But the truth was, she did feel
gladdened. She and Senenmut often sat together in the evenings when
her supper was finished, he reading descriptions of the ruins, she
dictating which were the next to be rebuilt, and how. She even
decreed which scenes were to be painted on the walls. Senenmut
wrote her words down in his careful, neat hand, and a few days
afterward a crew of builders would be dispatched to one of
Neferure's temples to make her word into deed. It was a heady
thing, and it gave her purpose. It distracted her from the
confinement she felt serving Amun. For though Amun was a god, to be
sure, he ignored Neferure, never entering her heart the way her
secret god did, the one who whispered to her, faceless and
mysterious, in the night.

The double doors at the end of the long hall opened,
and the Steward of Audiences approached the royal dais, bowing.
“Majesties, Good Gods of the Two Lands, I present the families
which you summoned.”

Neferure watched with growing curiosity as a crowd
came hesitantly into the great hall. There were men and women
dressed in the quality clothing and bright colors of nobles, and
each pair ushered a girl near Neferure's own age of eight. She
glanced across Hatshepsut's throne to Thutmose's on the other side
of the dais, hoping to catch her brother's eye, but the young
Pharaoh sat regally still as he had been taught, his arms lying on
the golden rests of his own kingly chair, his feet propped on a
small ebony footstool studded with turquoise so that he would not
forget himself and swing his legs in an undignified manner. He wore
a child-sized replica of Hatshepsut's own crown, the tall, tiered
structure of red and white that represented the unity of Upper and
Lower Egypt.

The families made their way down the length of the
chamber, gawking about them at the massive pillars that lined the
hall, at the vivid paint and gilding depicting generations of kings
and their mighty deeds, depicting the gods who moved them. Stewards
flanked the group like shepherds driving their flock to water.
Neferure almost giggled at the thought, but chased the smile from
her lips as they drew up near the foot of the dais. She was not
just King's Daughter now, but God's Wife of Amun. It would not be
maat to giggle in the presence of Egypt's subjects.

“Welcome,” Hatshepsut said.

The families bowed low, showing the palms of their
hands to the royal family in a display of obedience.

When they straightened, Neferure passed her gaze
swiftly across the faces of the girls. There were perhaps a dozen
of them, none quite old enough to have bled. All wore the
side-slicked hair, the braid over one ear, of girls still dwelling
in the realm of childhood. Neferure wore the braid, too, but she
did not feel any kinship with these girls. She was not a child,
whatever her years might suggest. She was the God's Wife, and
god-chosen, as Lady Ahmose had declared. Did these geese trembling
at the foot of the throne look upon the King's Daughter and think,
Look, there is a girl just our age, a girl like we
...? If
they did, then they were fools.

“Do not be frightened, dear girls – my flowers of
Egypt.” Hatshepsut was speaking again in her throne voice, richer
and deeper, more carrying than the voice she used in her chambers,
which was, Neferure thought, rather shrill. “We have brought you
here to honor you. Yes, you, and not your fathers and mothers,
though they are also worthy of honor.”

At the word
we
the elder girls flicked quick
glances toward Thutmose. One or two blushed and made cow eyes at
him. Neferure's eyelids grew heavy at their displays of silliness,
though it was the only disdain she allowed her face to show. For
his part, Thutmose remained regally uncaring on his throne,
oblivious to the girls' discomposure.

“You know, girls, how important is the happiness of
our gods. We must always give them the best we have, the very best
that we can offer, for this is maat. We have identified each of you
as the very best. You come from good families, noble and loyal to
the gods and to your kings. And you yourselves are good girls,
obedient and quick to learn, strong and healthy in body, pleasing
to your mothers and fathers. You stand before your Pharaohs so that
we might invite you to be the very best of offerings. Would you go
to Iunet, to the Temple of Hathor, and learn to serve the Lady of
the West?”