Lady of the Two Lands Page 11

  Massaging her aching temples, Hattie caught sight of Senemut, seated across the room. He sipped from a nearly untouched goblet of date wine and spoke quietly with Lord Ineni and Chancellor Neshi, their dark heads inclined politely to his. Sighing, she vowed that would be one of her first duties as pharaoh—from now on, Senemut would be at her side at every royal function. She was pharaoh, was she not, and her word law?

  He looked up at her, and took in her fatigue and drooping shoulders at a glance. Surreptitiously, he gestured for her to rise. Not knowing what he had in mind, but trusting him implicitly, she stood.

  At once, the entire company rose to its feet, and then bowed deeply to Hattie. “I…I shall retire now,” she stammered. Why had she not thought of this before? Perhaps there was an advantage or two to being the ruler, after all.

  Whispers of “Amun go with you”, accompanied her to the door.

  It’s over, Hattie thought wearily as she dropped down onto her bed. But a persistent little voice in the back of her mind contended, It’s just beginning. Shaking her head and then regretting it when the pounding intensified, she clapped her hands for her servant and allowed herself to relax under Nesi’s capable ministrations.

  Hattie was in bed at last and nearly asleep when she heard a tentative cough outside her bedchamber door. “Come in.” She sighed. Was she never to be left alone?

  Her mood immediately brightened as Senemut strode into the room. “I am sorry. I see I have awakened you, Hattie. It can wait until morning.” He turned to leave.

  She pushed herself upright on the bed. “Nay, come in. I was just thinking of the ceremony today, and wondering if it will be enough to safeguard Tuthmosis. Not that he is grateful for my protection,” she added, grinning wryly. “He is more withdrawn than ever, if that is possible. I do not blame him…he feels I have usurped his rightful position.”

  “Aye, the young prince is grim.” Senemut frowned. “I fear his boredom and somber mood will only become worse as he watches you wield pharaoh’s power, day after day. I think it would be best…but nay, I will not say it again. It has been a long day, and you need to rest. We can discuss it tomorrow.”

  Hattie sighed. “Nay, I know what you were about to say, and I confess you are right. It is time to send Tuthmosis to train with the army. I can no longer endure his glumness. Mayhap serving time with the army will give him something enjoyable and useful to do with his time. It will teach him obedience and respect for authority, if nothing else.”

  Senemut’s face brightened. “Aye, I am sure it will! And it will be invaluable for his future role as pharaoh. I suggest you send all his servants and retainers along with him as well. In addition to keeping the young prince safe, it will ensure that everyone around Your Majesty is loyal to you, and you alone. You will sleep much more soundly, I vow.”

  Hattie laughed, picturing the furor if a teenaged boy in her own time arrived at a military academy with maids and butlers in tow. But the seriousness of the situation sobered her instantly. “Your advice is sound, as always,” she said. “Please notify General Snefru of my decision tomorrow.” She patted the bed next to her. “Come, sit with me, Senemut.”

  He hesitated, then took a seat next to her. Though he did not touch her, he was close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him. She shivered. “I…I have something to tell you, Senemut. Something I should have told you far earlier, I fear.” She reached for his hand.

  “What is it? I know you wished to tell me something this morning, before the ceremonies. Speak now. It will calm you.”

  Hattie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. What if he didn’t believe her story? What if he did believe it, and feared her because he thought she possessed magical powers that enabled her to travel through time? Did they burn witches here? Or, worst of all—what if he was furious at her for her dishonesty, her lack in trust of him? What if he turned his back on her? She would be alone, marooned in a friendless, alien place and time.

  She shuddered. Better to get it over with quickly, she thought, fixing her glance on Senemut’s strong, brown hand over hers. “I am not…I am not Hatshepsut. My name is Hattie Williams, and I was born more than three thousand years into your future. Somehow, I was thrust backward in time, and into the body of the real Hatshepsut. I know not how it happened. Nor do I know how to return to my own time. I am trapped here.”

  She paused and risked a look at him. His eyes wide, his mouth open, he stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted an extra head.

  Then his features relaxed. “Hai! You are a minx, playing a joke on me. I must confess, it is a good one, but you cannot fool me. You have possessed magical powers since childhood, but this is inconceivable, even for you.”

  Hattie shook her head and squeezed his hand. “I am not joking, Senemut. I swear I am not! Ask me anything and I will answer. I must prove to you that I am telling the truth. I cannot bear the burden alone any longer.”

  Senemut narrowed his eyes. “I will play along, though I know not why you wish to prolong the farce. Let me see—what do you look like, in this future time? Surely, you do not look precisely like Hatshepsut?”

  Hattie snorted. “Nay, I do not! She is much more beautiful than I. Wait…” She snatched up a pen and piece of papyrus, and quickly sketched herself as she looked in her own time, complete with short, layered hairstyle and wispy bangs. She paused, then added a button-down collar around her neck. “This is what I look like.”

  Senemut studied the drawing for a moment in silence. “This is the image of a lovely woman, Hattie, who looks much like Hatshepsut.” He traced the curve of Hattie’s cheek on the picture. “The cheeks are a bit rounder, the eyes larger, but there is a marked similarity.” He frowned. “The clothing is odd, however, and the wig quite unusual!”

  She chuckled. “That is not a wig. It is my own hair, and in my time, it is considered to be quite a fashionable style.”

  “Aye, well, it is strange, I grant you. But ignoring the superficial changes of clothing and hair, it is Hatshepsut.” He held up the drawing. “This is not sufficient proof. Tell me—when were you born, and where?”

  “I was born on January twelfth, in Chicago, Illinois, in the year 1968. I know that month and year means nothing to you, but it is three thousand years in the future.”

  “January? Chicago? I know nothing of these words. What is the location of this Chicago where you say you were born?”

  “It is in the United States of America.” Seeing his puzzled look, she hastily added, “A large country, far to the north and west of Egypt. It has not been discovered yet.”

  Senemut smiled. “You come from a land not yet discovered, in a year that has not yet arrived. You have quite an imagination, little one! And what do you do in this mythical land?”

  “I am an artist,” Hattie explained. “I was at work on a series of drawings for a book…er, a papyrus about Hatshepsut. The real Hatshepsut,” she amended hastily. “I was doing a detailed sketch of a necklace that was supposed to have belonged to her when something happened. Just as I finished copying the last hieroglyph, a wave of dizziness passed over me, and I fell. I must have lost consciousness. When I awoke, I was here.” She spread her hands helplessly. “You know the rest of the story.”

  “A necklace?” Comprehension dawned across his face. “The necklace you asked me about—the one with the golden figure of Horus. You say that necklace brought you here?”

  Hattie nodded miserably. “I think so. It is the only explanation I can come up with. The necklace, the hieroglyphs, or both. Mayhap the hieroglyphs were some kind of chant or spell, and when I finished copying them, the spell was triggered. But I did not know how to read hieroglyphics then, so I know not what they said. And, unfortunately, though I clutched it as I fell, the necklace did not travel here with me. I am marooned here. I know not how to return to my own time. I have been forced to play the part of Hatshepsut in order to survive.”

  “You were never talented in art until the funer
al of your husband, the Great God. Yet now your skills rival any artisan’s.” He frowned, tapping the drawing he still held against his palm. “And in this…this ingenious tale of yours, what has happened to the real Hatshepsut?”

  “I know not. You said you thought she had died at the funeral of her husband. Mayhap she did indeed die of grief. Her spirit may have left her body, which enabled my spirit to enter it. After I touched the necklace and swooned, I encountered a ghostly figure who claimed to be Hatshepsut, though I did not believe it at the time, and I have felt a…a presence more than once, heard a voice whisper to me when the room was empty, give me advice.” She shrugged, staring down at the soft, slender hands so unlike her own capable ones. “I only know that this is not my body, and this is not my time.”

  “Hatshepsut was ever a timid woman,” Senemut muttered, shaking his head again. “She would not dare to look me straight in the eye, much less seize the throne of Horus for herself. Yet, she knew well how to read and write, but I myself taught you these things. And her spells were always small and inclined toward love potions to help her favorite servants. Nothing as ambitious as travel through time. And yet, she did have powers beyond those of other women.” A spasm of pain distorted his face. “What of us, if this preposterous tale is true? I have allowed myself to feel…to believe that you feel for me…” He groaned, crumpling the drawing in his fist. “Great Amun, my head spins as if from too much date wine.”

  “Oh, Senemut, if you believe nothing else I’ve told you, you must believe that I…” She gulped. “I…I had not planned to tell you in this fashion, but I love you, Senemut. With all my heart and soul.”

  “Aye, so you say, but who are you? By all the gods, I swear, I am tempted to believe you. You sound sincere. But can this tale be true? Are you really a stranger from another time?”

  “It is true, I swear it by…” She broke off as a look of horror crossed his face and he rose from the bed so hastily that he stumbled. “Senemut, what is it? What is wrong?”

  “By Amun and Isis and all the gods, what have I done?” He backed away from her outstretched hands, moaning and making the sign of the sacred eye of Horus. “What have I done? I have put an imposter on the throne of Egypt!” He turned and fled the room.

  “Senemut, wait!” Hattie cried. “Please, come back!”

  But it was too late; he was gone.

  * * *

  Senemut paced back and forth feverishly along the bank of the lotus pool in the garden adjoining his apartments. His mind was bleak, black; he felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach and had his heart torn out for good measure. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. All he could do was walk and turn, walk and turn.

  After a time, the mechanical activity soothed him a little. He dropped down onto a stone bench, his head in his hands. Great Amun, what had he done? He had allowed himself to be led about by his heart like a young, untried boy. He had fallen for a pretty face, a tender smile…or, he thought bitterly as he eyed the drawing Hattie had made, I fell for two pretty faces.

  He shook his head viciously. Nay, he couldn’t believe, even now, that he had acted only out of lust, or even love. Hatshepsut…nay, Hattie…was fit in every way to rule Egypt, except for her gender. And why should that keep an otherwise fit leader from the throne? Thus, he had been right to help her be crowned pharaoh.

  Yet, the throne of Egypt was not a prize to be won by intelligence or leadership or even feat of arms. It was a sacred position that passed from father to son, along the royal line—and Hattie was not a member of the royal family. If her outlandish tale were true, that is. In that case, putting her on the throne was worse than an affront against Egypt; it was an affront against the gods, against maat itself: truth, justice, order, stability. Without maat, the universe would slide into chaos and disorder and the world would be destroyed.

  Senemut stood and resumed pacing. Should he try to wrest the scepter from Hattie’s grasp and give it into the hand of another? Perhaps that would restore maat. Yet, to try to unseat pharaoh was the worst sacrilege of all. Would that not destroy maat in and of itself?

  “Amun help me,” Senemut groaned aloud. “What am I to do?”

  CHAPTER 19

  Day after lonely day passed. Senemut did not reappear, and Hattie missed him sorely. When he hadn’t returned after two days, she sent a servant, bearing an apologetic note, to inquire after him. The servant returned quickly, saying only that Lord Senemut was indisposed and would see no one. Her letter, pleading with him to listen to her, to give her a chance to explain, was returned unread.

  Hattie knew that, as pharaoh, she could command his presence, yet she knew it would solve nothing. Indeed, it would be a grave mistake. He must come to an understanding of who she was, an acceptance of her, on his own, and she couldn’t force it. So, she must wait, though it killed her to do so.

  While she waited, there were many royal duties to keep her occupied. She presided at court, made the required appearances at the temple, spoke with the nobles. Without Senemut’s counsel and sage advice, she didn’t know if she performed the duties properly, nor did she care. She missed the sound of his voice, the brilliance of his smile, the warmth of his touch. Despite her best intentions, Hattie had admitted to Senemut and herself that she had fallen in love with him. And without his presence, her life in this alien land was nothing more than a burden.

  The only bright spot in her life was little Neferure. The princess radiated delight, enthusiasm, and simple joy in life, and always brought a smile to Hattie’s lips. As she held the child on her lap or sang her to sleep at night, she vowed she would never tell the truth to Neferure. Though it would be a weight on her soul until the day she died to impersonate the child’s mother, she would not take away one ounce of the little girl’s happiness and security, just to ease her own conscience.

  Tuthmosis had been shipped off with General Snefru to train with the army, far to the south, where he would remain for several years. Any guilt Hattie might have felt at sending the boy away was instantly erased when Tuthmosis came to her before he left and gave an awkward speech of thanks, carefully prepared and memorized. He even smiled at her briefly, the first genuine smile he’d bestowed since her arrival. As always, Senemut was right. Sending Tuthmosis away had been the proper thing to do. What would she do now, without Senemut’s counsel and advice?

  Hattie was seated in her bedchamber, disconsolately practicing her hieroglyphs, when the curtain flapped aside and Senemut strode in. “Majesty,” he said, nodding briefly.

  “Senemut!” She flew to his side and reached out for him, tears of joy welling in her eyes. She could scarcely breathe and her heart felt like it would burst.

  He held up a hand to stop her advance. “I have things to tell you, things I must say. Pray, do me the courtesy of listening to them without interruption.”

  The hope within her quickly withered at his gruff tone. “Of course,” she whispered, sinking down onto the stool.

  “I have thought long and hard on all you have told me,” he said, pacing back and forth across the small open space in the room. “I did not wish to accept it. I tried to find another explanation for your story, any explanation at all. But alas, I fear you spoke the truth. I believe you are not Hatshepsut, but instead a woman from another time and place. I know not how you came here or why, but it is plain that you are who you claim to be.”

  Hattie sagged with relief. At least he accepted her story, for good or ill. She felt like a tremendous burden had been removed from her shoulders.

  “Since you are not the real Hatshepsut, I have made a grievous error in having you crowned. I have placed a stranger, a woman—and one not of royal blood!—on the throne of Egypt. I know not if the gods will forgive me for this…this abomination.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand again.

  “What is done cannot be easily undone, I fear. I cannot take the crown from your head, any more than I can raise the dead. The only way to remove you f
rom the throne of Horus is through your death.”

  Hattie shifted uneasily on her stool. This one-sided conversation was not going as well as she had hoped. Was Senemut still angry with her? Angry enough to have her killed, or to kill her himself? Had she been mistaken about his ability to absorb and accept her revelation?

  “Amun preserve me, but I cannot wish for your death.” When he met her gaze at last, an electric shock coursed through her. “You are a helpless toy of the gods, as am I. I know not what they have in mind, but I must trust there is a plan, else they would not have brought you here.”

  “I hope so,” she murmured, dropping her gaze. Her cheeks were flushed and her heart raced. Now the conversation was venturing into safer territory.

  “Aye, mayhap it is best thus,” Senemut said, resuming his pacing. “The gods have not struck me down yet and mayhap they will not. Tuthmosis is too young to rule. Were you not on the throne, a Regent would be appointed and I cannot imagine one of his advisors in that position. Between them, they have the wisdom of a single, obstinate donkey.”

  Hattie giggled at the image his words presented. After a moment, Senemut’s rich laugh joined hers. The tension in the air dissipated, and she relaxed a little. Perhaps everything would be all right after all.

  Senemut crossed the floor to her in two steps, seized her by the arms, and hauled her upright. Her heart thudded in her chest as he held her so close to him that she was enfolded by his spicy, masculine scent as the warmth of his body radiated and enveloped her.