Lady of the Two Lands Page 4

  Nesi poured, and Hattie scrubbed, until all the jars were empty. Nesi produced piles of snowy linen towels and rubbed Hattie’s body until it glowed, then massaged sweetly scented oil into her skin.

  She led Hattie back to the bedroom and dressed her in the scandalous transparent gown that left one breast bare. Hattie almost objected, but her common sense took over. Such gowns were customary here, and if she made a fuss, she would stand out as an intruder. Besides, it didn’t seem like her own body that was scandalously clad. It still felt like the body of a stranger. Who was she to complain if Hatshepsut chose to dress in this fashion?

  Nesi slipped leather sandals on Hattie’s feet, clasped bands of gold around her upper arms and fastened a necklace made of lapis lazuli and gold beads around her neck. Then she gestured for Hattie to sit on the stool.

  Hattie sat while Nesi created row upon row of intricate braids in her hair. Next, she took several alabaster pots and ivory sticks from one of the baskets and proceeded to draw thick lines of black kohl along Hattie’s eyebrows and above her eyelids all the way out to her temples, matched by lines of green kohl under her eyes. She reddened her cheeks and lips with rouge, and then held up a small, highly polished bronze mirror for Hattie’s inspection.

  The reflection was a little fuzzy and indistinct, but staring back at her Hattie saw an exotic beauty with an oval face, high forehead, deep brown, almond-shaped eyes, and a delicate pointed chin.

  “You are pleased, Majesty?” Nesi asked.

  “Oh, aye…Nesi, I am very pleased,” Hattie breathed, tearing her eyes away from the mirror. She had just been given the most complete makeover any woman ever experienced. How could she be anything but pleased?

  “Come then, Majesty. I will lead you to the throne room.”

  Suddenly, an enormous snake of panic slithered through the pit of her stomach. Playing at dress-up was one thing. Serving as the ruler of an entire country was another. What if she did something wrong? Could she make a mistake big enough to change history? Was it even possible to change history? Hattie moaned. Why had she only skimmed the books on ancient Egypt that Tom had pressed on her? If only she’d paid more attention! A sheen of sweat broke out across her forehead. She should have looked for the necklace instead of the clothing and maybe she’d have been home by now.

  “Majesty?”

  Hattie clenched her fists. She was trapped, and there was no way out. Holding her head high, she followed Nesi out of the room. She felt as if she were climbing the scaffold to her own execution.

  CHAPTER 6

  Nesi wound her way through a maze of corridors, Hattie close on her heels. She knew if she lost sight of Nesi for an instant, she’d be lost. At every twist and turn, in every doorway, painted and scantily-clad Egyptians bowed low as she passed. She tried not to let them terrify her, nodding in what she hoped was a regal manner. She had no idea if that was the correct response.

  At last, Nesi stopped in front of a tall set of double doors guarded by two fierce-looking men with spears. “Majesty,” she said, then slipped away, leaving Hattie to her doom.

  Hattie’s stomach twisted as she watched the servant’s retreating back. She wanted to call to Nesi, tell her to wait, but her mouth felt as though it were stuffed with cotton.

  The guards snapped to attention and saluted, spears upright in their left hands, right hands fisted and across their chests; then they threw open the doors. An official dressed in a fine white linen kilt and gold neck and armbands bowed and ushered her in. Striking his long staff against the floor, he announced her presence to the room full of strangers. “King’s Great Wife, King’s Daughter, King’s Sister, God’s Wife of Amun, Lady of the Two Lands, Her Majesty Hatshepsut!”

  Every painted eye and bewigged head in the room swiveled to her and stared. A sudden impulse seized her to turn and run, screaming, from the palace. Surely, living in the Egyptian desert couldn’t be as trying as this?

  Hattie forced the impulse down with difficulty. The only hope she had of returning to her own time was to play the part she’d been thrust into, and play it well enough to be above suspicion. Holding her head high, she commanded her shaky legs to carry her, step by agonizing step, to the twin thrones on a raised dais at the opposite end of the room. When she reached them, she paused. Where was she supposed to sit? Would she create a furor if she sat in the wrong one?

  The courtier at the end of the room cried out, “His Majesty, King’s Son, Prince Tuthmosis!”

  A young boy slouched into the room through a side door. So, this was the heir that the ghost—or the hallucination?—had spoken of. He was about eight years old, dressed in a white kilt, his head shaved except a long forelock hanging down on one side. He had a low forehead, a long, narrow face, and small ears. His front teeth stuck out, an effect he tried to counter by keeping his lips pressed tightly shut. A pity he hadn’t been born thirty-five hundred years later, Hattie thought sympathetically. Braces would do wonders for him.

  He slumped down on the throne on the left. Wonderful! At least she knew which throne was hers now. Hattie took a seat and turned to the boy. “Good morning, Tuthmosis,” she said, smiling brightly.

  The boy glanced at her and then turned away. “Stepmother.” He nodded, keeping his lips pressed tightly over his teeth.

  “What is the matter? Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed?” she inquired pleasantly, still smiling.

  He stared at her wide-eyed from under raised brows. “Which side is the wrong side?”

  “Never mind, never mind. I am sorry about your father. You must be very sad.” She put her hand gently on his arm.

  A tear rolled down one cheek and he pulled his arm away. “I am a man now and will be pharaoh one day,” he declared stoutly. “I do not need any pity.”

  Her heart went out to the boy. He was obviously trying so hard to bear up under his grief, and his adult responsibilities as heir to the throne. Hattie reached out to him again, but any words she might have spoken were cut short by a commotion at the other end of the room. The double doors opened again and two men—one in a ragged, stained tunic and the other wearing a fringed leather kilt and helmet—were ushered in by a shaven-headed, rotund, well-dressed priest. The courtier who had announced Hattie rushed up the aisle ahead of the three men. Out of the corner of her eye, Hattie saw Senemut slip into the back of the room. Instantly, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders and she sighed deeply. He winked at her and she grinned back.

  “Your Majesty Hatshepsut, Prince Tuthmosis, I place before you the soldier Ahmose and Merisu, a potter of Thebes. They are accompanied by Hapuseneb, High Priest of Amun,” the courtier announced.

  The priest strode arrogantly up to the throne and bowed low. “Majesties, I have brought these men before your royal highnesses for your judgment. May Amun guide your hearts.” He stepped back.

  Hattie glanced quickly at Tuthmosis. He was staring at a spot over the priest’s head, obviously bored. “You may proceed,” she said, hoping it was close to the correct response.

  The priest pointed to the potter. “Speak.”

  Merisu stepped forward, then threw himself to the floor at Hattie’s feet in abject terror.

  “Rise,” Hattie said softly. “Do not be afraid. You may speak.”

  Merisu glanced up and she smiled at him encouragingly. He stood and began his tale in a halting voice. “Oh, Divine One, I have a…a small workshop on the outskirts of the city where I make pottery. Very fine pottery,” he added diffidently.

  Hattie nodded. “I am sure it is.”

  “On the fifth day of the first month of inundation, this soldier…” He stopped to gesture timidly at Ahmose. “He came into my workshop. My daughter was there, and he spoke to her in a most disrespectful manner, pressing his attentions upon her. When I protested—for my daughter is unmarried, and has been well brought up—he grew angry, and dashed to the floor every pot and bowl in the shop. He struck me and chased my daughter, screaming, from my sight. She f
eared to come home until after nightfall. Majesty, I have asked him to recompense me for the damage, but he refuses.” The man glanced again at Hattie, and then backed away quickly, bowing and trembling.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” she said, pointing at the soldier Ahmose.

  Ahmose swaggered forward. “Majesties, this potter was most rude to me.” He jabbed his thumb disdainfully in Merisu’s direction. “He offended me, refusing my advances to his daughter. I had thought to honor her with my attention, but she was not pretty enough to be worth the insult I was forced to bear. He received what he deserved. I owe him nothing.” He nodded at Hattie and Tuthmosis, then stepped confidently back to his place.

  Hapuseneb, the priest, came forward, a self-satisfied smirk on his round face. “Your Majesties can surely see how noble Ahmose has been wronged. This lowly potter has affronted—”

  “I can see no such thing.” Hattie cut him short, holding up her hand. She glanced at Tuthmosis. He stared up at the ceiling, apparently having nothing to say. She sighed and continued. “What I see is an arrogant soldier who is accustomed to getting what he wants, and is not willing to take responsibility for his own actions. I find no nobility in the man’s wanton treatment of the potter and his daughter. Ahmose, it is my judgment that you shall pay Merisu the fair market value for his property that you destroyed.”

  Ahmose stared at her, his mouth hanging open. The priest sputtered indignantly, “But, Majesty, surely—”

  “And,” she continued, narrowing her eyes, her voice soft and steely, “you will count yourself lucky, Ahmose, that I do not punish you further for your unjustifiable assault upon this man and his child. See that it does not happen again. That is all.”

  Several gasps sounded in the room, and were just as quickly stifled. Ahmose blanched, his tanned skin turning sickly pale. Bowing deeply, he hastened from the room. After a final hostile glance, the priest, too, left without a word.

  Merisu cleared his throat. “Thank you, Most Radiant One. You are truly the voice of Maat, goddess of justice.” He turned and fled the room as if demons pursued him.

  Hattie glanced at Tuthmosis. He had paid but scant attention to the proceedings, instead toying with the protective amulet fastened to his left wrist and staring around the room. Suddenly, he noticed that the hearing was over, rose from his throne and withdrew hastily, without a parting word or backward glance.

  Sighing, she turned from the sight of his stiff retreating back and found Senemut’s gaze upon her. He nodded at her, approval written in every line of his straight, well-muscled body. Relieved that someone agreed with her course of action, she smiled in return. The audience was over.

  Hattie had met the young crown prince, given a potter justice, made mortal enemies of a soldier and a priest, and pleased little Neferure’s tutor. Not bad, she reflected, for her first official duty as regent and co-ruler of Egypt.

  * * *

  “By the sacred eye of Horus!” Hapuseneb paced back and forth in his small, secluded chamber in the temple of Amun at Karnak. “That woman is impossible! I cannot tolerate her interference any longer. Did you see the way she upbraided Ahmose in front of the entire court?” He turned to glare at Great Army General Snefru, who slumped on a low stool, his long legs stretched out before him.

  “Aye,” Snefru muttered. “He is one of my best soldiers. It was unforgivable.”

  Hapuseneb tapped his upper lip thoughtfully. “We must do something now, before she gets any further out of hand. Who knows what she will take it into her head to do next?”

  “I agree.” Snefru rose. “Command me, and I shall obey. We must rid Egypt of her swiftly, like routing an enemy in battle. What do you have in mind?”

  “You must be patient.” Hapuseneb smiled thinly, coldly.

  Trained as a soldier, Snefru chafed at inactivity like a bored child. But in his long years of service as a priest, Hapuseneb had learned the advantages of outward composure and waiting for the auspicious moment to act.

  “We shall be rid of her before long, I vow. Then, with no other member of the royal family to serve as Regent for the boy, I, High Priest of Amun, shall be appointed Regent and the rule of Egypt will be mine.”

  CHAPTER 7

  “Blast!”

  Hattie searched again through the glittering jewels spread across the bed, but it wasn’t there. Scores of necklaces, earrings, bracelets, circlets, anklets, and rings lay tangled together, all so beautiful they took her breath away. Not one remotely resembled the pectoral necklace she had been copying when she was somehow thrust into Hatshepsut’s body and life.

  Though she had no proof, Hattie believed that the necklace—or the hieroglyphics on it—was responsible for her sudden, inexplicable trip to ancient Egypt. She knew she was incapable of remembering and faithfully reproducing all the hieroglyphics, since they were no more meaningful to her than Sanskrit. She was equally certain that, without the necklace, she would be unable to return to her own time. That necklace was as close as she’d ever get to a time machine, and she had to find it. One more cold bath and she would have to throttle someone.

  Impatiently, she scooped the jewels back into the basket and clapped her hands. Nesi popped into the room. “Nesi, send His Lordship Senemut to me at once,” Hattie requested, waving her away.

  In a moment, Senemut strode in. “Majesty,” he said, bowing deeply.

  “Hattie,” she corrected.

  He grinned. “Hattie.”

  Her heart leapt in her chest at the sight of his smile. God, he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen—sun-bronzed, muscled, with the grace of a panther and the smooth manners of a courtier. What could it hurt if she…but no. She shook herself out of her rosy haze. She needed to keep her mind on her goal of getting home again.

  “Senemut, is there another place where Hatshep…I mean, where I keep my jewelry?”

  Senemut frowned. “I do not believe so.” He searched her face. “Is something missing? Shall I alert the guards?”

  “That will not be necessary.” She waved away the idea. “But I could have sworn there was another necklace…”

  “Mayhap if you would describe it to me?” he suggested.

  Hattie pursed her lips, trying to recall the details. “It was a pectoral collar with a golden figure of Horus the falcon. His wings were made of turquoise, lapis lazuli, gold and colored glass beads.” She sighed. “It was the most lovely thing I have ever seen.” A sudden thought occurred to her. She clapped her hands and sent Nesi to fetch some papyrus, an inkpot and brush.

  Nesi returned shortly with the requested items. Hattie seized the brush and dipped it into the inkpot. It felt so good to hold a brush in her hand again! For the first time since this whole affair had begun, she felt like herself. She quickly sketched the outline of the necklace, minus the hieroglyphs, and held it up for Senemut’s examination. “There were hieroglyphs here,” she said, pointing to the empty spot on the falcon’s body.

  Senemut opened his eyes wider. “I did not know you possessed such skills with a brush!”

  “Ah well…” Hattie shrugged nonchalantly. “It is just a pastime, nothing more. So, do you recognize it?”

  He frowned. “I do not recall such a necklace. However, if you wish, I will send for the royal jeweler. He can surely fashion for you a necklace just as you picture. Or mayhap it was a necklace belonging to the Great God, or the Great God’s father? Horus is the protector of pharaoh.”

  “Nay, I do not think it belonged to my husband.” She dropped onto the bed in gloomy silence. Tom told her the necklace had probably belonged to Hatshepsut. But what if it hadn’t? What if it had belonged to some other ancient Egyptian noblewoman or queen—or even, as Senemut suggested, a pharaoh? It might have been buried with a pharaoh centuries ago, or might not yet exist. She could be stuck here, marooned in the past forever, unable to get her hands on the only thing that could save her.

  But if the necklace hadn’t belonged to Hatshepsut, then how could it have
sent her back into Hatshepsut’s life? Wouldn’t she have traveled to the life of the necklace’s real owner? How did time machines work anyway? It was so confusing. It seemed that, in addition to studying ancient Egyptian history, she was remiss in not reading more science fiction.

  Senemut said that Horus was the protector of pharaoh. Hatshepsut was not yet pharaoh. If the necklace did belong to her, would Hattie have to wait—months, years?—until Hatshepsut was crowned pharaoh for the necklace to appear?

  Hattie knew she could have a necklace produced to her specifications, thereby obtaining an excellent copy of the piece Tom had showed her. But she would never be able to duplicate the hieroglyphics. She didn’t know how to read them, so she had no idea what had been inscribed on the figure of the falcon. And the hieroglyphs, she was certain, were the key to the mystery. They must be some kind of charm or incantation that had sent her hurtling to the past. Perhaps if she learned to read hieroglyphics, she could remember those on the necklace? It was worth a try.

  “I feel your sorrow.” Senemut’s concerned voice pierced her grim thoughts. “It floats around you like a cloud. What can I do to lighten your heart?”

  She looked up at him. She couldn’t tell him the truth…not yet anyway. She was still an outcast here, who could be tortured in nasty ways or even executed if found to be an imposter. “I know not what to do. I am Regent, yet I do not understand what is expected of me. I do not belong here. Tuthmosis will not accept my help, and I feel useless.”

  “Is that all?” He smiled gently down on her.

  “That is enough.”

  “Aye, well, then it is easily explained. The young prince has recently lost his father. You have been made his regent, as he is obviously too young to rule. Yet, you are not the boy’s mother, but only his stepmother. Of course, he is trying to hide his emotions from you and behave as he believes a man should.”

  “Aye, I suppose you must be right.” Hattie brightened. “As you have said, I am only his stepmother. Who is his mother? Could she not serve as Regent for her son, instead of me?”