Lady of the Two Lands Page 7

  She turned to Senemut. “What must I do? Should I ride in a chariot at the head of my troops?”

  Wearing a serious expression, he shook his head. “Snefru will come to you when all is in readiness. You must give him the order to proceed. Then, you need only stand on the crest of this hill and watch the battle. It will not take long.”

  Hattie winced. “I…I confess I am loathe to watch my soldiers die. I cannot help but feel their blood is on my hands.”

  “You must be strong.” He looked around, then unobtrusively reached for her hand. “Your soldiers must see you fearless and brave, urging them on. It will inspire them to fight fiercely.”

  “I know you are right, and I will stay. You will be here with me, will you not?” She clutched his hand with both of hers.

  “Of course.”

  “Majesty?”

  She dropped Senemut’s hand and turned to see Snefru striding to her. “Aye, General?”

  “All is prepared. I await your orders.”

  “Very well.” She paused, glancing at Senemut, who smiled encouragingly. “Begin the battle. May Sekhmet, goddess of war, grant you and your men a glorious victory.”

  Snefru saluted sharply and ran to issue the orders.

  A sick, uneasy feeling crawled around in the pit of Hattie’s stomach as she looked down on her troops. For a brief moment, the scene seemed frozen in time. Chariots and infantry stood in straight lines at the near edge of the field, with the Nubians in a more disorderly clump at the opposite end. Then, at an unheard signal, the battle began.

  Hattie’s troops marched forward in even rows until the Nubians began to advance on them. Then, wings of infantry swung to the left and right to flank the enemy, while the chariots raced at top speed to work their way behind the Nubians.

  The Nubian troops, suddenly sensing the purpose of the unfamiliar flanking strategy, tried to retreat, but it was too late. The horse-drawn chariots had moved into position like lightning, and there was no way out. Resigned, the enemy soldiers turned forward again and launched a violent attack on the troops awaiting their arrival.

  Screams and cries, shouted orders and curses, clanging of metal against metal, and the thuds of spear points and bronze-tipped arrows meeting leather shields rose to Hattie’s ears on the still, dry air. Dust obscured portions of the scene from time to time, but there was no disguising the amount of hot, red blood being spilled, even from such a great distance. Moaning, Hattie closed her eyes.

  At once, she felt Senemut’s left arm come around her waist, his right hand cupping her elbow. “Hold your head high, Majesty,” he whispered. “Your soldiers are winning for you a great victory. Your name will be written for all the ages.”

  Gulping, Hattie raised her head and forced herself to open her eyes. If her soldiers were dying for her eternal glory, the least she could do was to provide them with a vision of a fierce, fearless ruler—no matter how false that image felt deep in her heart.

  Suddenly, she heard a small sound. It was no louder than the footstep of a servant outside her room in the palace, but it drew her attention. She whipped around to her left and saw a huge Nubian soldier creeping around the corner of her tent, knife upraised as he approached her.

  “Senemut!” she cried. She felt rooted to the spot, watching in horror as the attacker broke into a run toward them.

  At once, Senemut seized her and shoved her behind him, then turned to face the assassin. “Get away, Hattie!” he shouted to her as he grasped both of the Nubian’s forearms with his hands, struggling to keep the knife out of striking distance.

  Senemut’s warning broke her trance and she stumbled into her tent, looking for something—anything—she could use as a weapon to help him. She had no intention of running away and leaving him to be butchered. Her eyes settled on a large pottery wine jar. Seizing it, she rushed outside.

  The men still struggled, both of them covered with dust and sweat. Senemut seized the attacker’s knife hand and tried to wrest the weapon from him. They spun around and crashed into a stool outside the tent. Falling in a tangle of flailing limbs, they lost their hold on each other. Hattie stumbled back just in time to avoid being caught in the fracas, somehow managing to keep her grip on the unwieldy wine jar.

  They leapt to their feet and faced off again, the Nubian still in possession of the knife. Blood trickled down Senemut’s side from a wound the Nubian had inflicted. They panted, sweat gleaming on their heaving chests. The intruder was taller and heavier, but Senemut’s lithe body had the grace of a leopard and the muscular power of a lion.

  The assassin suddenly charged at Senemut, his head lowered. Senemut darted nimbly out of his path and seized him from behind, pulling the man’s arms behind him and forcing him down to his knees. The Nubian cried out in pain and struggled to free himself.

  Seizing the opportunity, Hattie raised the heavy jar and smashed it onto the assailant’s head with all the strength she could muster. It shattered, wine and pottery shards spraying over both combatants. The Nubian groaned and Senemut released him, letting him slump to the ground.

  Senemut bent over, his hands on his knees, breathing harshly. At last he stood upright and faced her. “You…are a fierce warrior…Hattie,” he panted. “I thank you for your assistance.” He put out his tongue to catch a drip of wine trickling down his face, then grinned. “But I fear…it was a waste of good wine.”

  Hattie laughed, giddy with relief. “It is I who should thank you. You saved my life.”

  “It was my duty, Majesty,” he said, and bowed. “And my very great pleasure. Have your soldiers won another victory for you yet?” He gestured in the direction of the field of combat.

  Hattie looked down at the field below and discovered that, at last, the battle was over. Sounds of conflict dwindled, leaving only the moans and cries of the injured and dying. As predicted, Egypt’s seasoned troops had achieved an easy victory over the inexperienced Nubian soldiers. “Aye. It appears to be finished.” She turned back to him and gasped. “You are bleeding! Let me take a look at that. It looks serious.”

  He glanced down at his side, then ran a finger lightly over the wound and winced. “It is nothing more than a scratch. Do not worry yourself.”

  “Nonsense,” Hattie said. “The least I can do is clean it for you. After all, you saved my life. I owe you something.” She hurried into the tent and grabbed a pitcher of clean water and a linen towel. Dashing outside, she directed him to sit on the stool, which she hastily righted.

  “I do not need assistance, Hattie,” he protested as she pushed him down.

  “Please, Senemut,” she said. “I stood by, helpless, and watched the battle below, and I watched your battle with the Nubian soldier. This is something that I can do. It will make me feel useful.”

  Senemut sighed. “Very well.”

  Hattie knelt next to him, dipped the towel in the water and dabbed it over the cut, removing the blood and dirt as gently as possible. She tried to ignore the tingles she felt when she ran her fingers over his chest and ribs, probing delicately for other hidden injuries.

  “Hattie, I…” He stopped, swallowed, and started again. “Are you certain you are trained for this?”

  “Am I hurting you?” she murmured, looking up into his eyes. “I am sorry. I am being as gentle as I can. Fortunately, the gash is not deep, and I think it is your only injury.”

  “Aye, and did I not tell you as much?” Senemut said, wincing, but returning her warm gaze. “Nonetheless, I thank you for your kindness.”

  “It was my pleasure.” Hattie smiled. “There! It is finished. Try to keep it clean, and it will heal well.”

  Snefru suddenly appeared at her side, panting and covered with sweat and blood. His eyes widened as he noticed Senemut’s injury, Hattie kneeling at his side with a bloody towel in her hand. When Hattie stood and faced him, he dragged his gaze away. “Majesty!” he cried, bowing. “A most glorious victory!”

  “Aye.” She bit her tongue to keep from telling him
her true thoughts. “You did an excellent job, General Snefru. My congratulations.”

  “It is my pleasure to serve Your Majesty.” He gestured at the battlefield. “We lost only seventy men, and two hundred are wounded. The enemy lost far more men.”

  “No doubt,” she murmured. “There is one.” She pointed at the downed Nubian soldier, still lying unconscious and covered with pottery fragments. “He tried to kill me, but Lord Senemut saved my life. How did he slip past your soldiers?”

  “I…I swear, I know not, Majesty!” Snefru stammered, bowing low. “But all things are possible in battle. Senemut, Egypt owes you…owes you a great debt.” He glared at Senemut with a less than kindly expression on his face. “I will have this Nubian dog dragged from your sight at once, Royal One,” he continued, prodding the warrior with a foot. “We have captured the leader of the traitors. Shall I have him brought to your tent?”

  She glanced down at the field, where the dead were being dragged away and the wounded tended. “Nay. Hold him for the present. I wish to see to the needs of the wounded.”

  “But, Majesty, the physicians are quite capable of—”

  “Mayhap so. But my soldiers were wounded in my service, and I wish to assure myself they are properly treated. Thank you, General Snefru.” She dismissed him with a curt wave.

  He bowed again and hastened away.

  She turned to Senemut. “You need not accompany me if you choose not to. But it is something I must do.”

  He grinned. “It is my honor to follow you onto the field of battle, or anywhere else you desire to go, little warrior. And it may be that you will need my protection again! Or mayhap I will need yours. Have you other wine jars?” he asked, winking. Then he reached for her hand.

  So, with Senemut at her side, Hattie moved among the wounded lying on the field, assisting the physicians in removing arrows, stitching wounds, applying bandages, setting broken limbs, and comforting the dying.

  Hours passed, and the sun had nearly set before she straightened painfully and trudged slowly up the hill to her tent. She was covered with blood and dirt, and much of her gown she had torn away to use as bandages. Fatigue hung heavy on her like a shroud. She felt she had aged an eternity in the last twenty-four hours.

  She slumped down on a stool inside the tent. Senemut stood in front of her. “You are tired, are you not, little warrior?”

  “Aye,” she murmured. “So tired. I have pains in muscles I did not know I possessed.”

  “May I assist you with that?” he asked. “You cared for me. I would be honored to do as much for you.”

  “Of course. What did you have in mind?”

  Senemut rose and stepped behind her. She felt his warm, strong hands on her shoulders, tentatively at first. Then, with more assurance, he firmly massaged her aching muscles. Hattie relaxed, giving in to the sensuous pleasure of his hands on her flesh.

  “You were wonderful, Hattie,” he said as he kneaded the sore muscles in her back. “Your name will live forever in your soldiers’ hearts.”

  “I do not feel wonderful,” she mumbled. “I feel dirty, inside and out. I am exhausted.”

  “Ah! This, I can remedy.” He clapped his hands, and an orderly rushed into the tent. “Bring Her Majesty’s bath.”

  “At once, Your Lordship.”

  The orderly rushed away, returning quickly with a collapsible canvas tub. Several men followed, carrying large stone jars of water, which they poured into the tub. Then they vanished as quickly as they had come, closing the tent flaps behind them.

  “Oh, Senemut.” Hattie eyed the water greedily. “I would love a bath. But I am so tired, I fear I cannot manage.”

  “Then, allow me, Majesty. It would be my pleasure to assist you.”

  Gasping, she raised her gaze to his. Love shone from every line of his face as he reached out a hand to her.

  “Aye,” she whispered, taking his hand. “Aye, Senemut.”

  He pulled her gently to her feet. “First, we must remove what remains of your poor gown,” he said as he swiftly and efficiently unfastened it, allowing the ragged linen to drop to the floor at her feet.

  She stood silent, holding her head high, though her cheeks flamed with color. She heard the sharp intake of his breath as his gaze swept over her body.

  “By Amun, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he breathed.

  He scooped her up into his arms, and at that point, she was ready to go with him wherever he chose to take her. But instead of her bed, he deposited her gently in the tub.

  The water was lukewarm and blissfully clean. She closed her eyes as Senemut poured dipper after dipper of water over her head. Then, he slowly massaged her hair and body with his strong, sensitive hands. A comforting, numbing heat flooded through her like strong wine.

  At last he pulled her to an upright position and helped her out of the tub, then gently stroked her body dry with linen towels. Hattie could scarcely keep her eyes open as he lifted her again into his arms and carried her to the bed.

  “I am sorry, Senemut,” she mumbled, trying to keep her eyes open. “You deserve more, but I am so tired.”

  He pulled the sheet up over her and smoothed her hair off her forehead, then lay down on the floor next to her bed. “Sleep, little one,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I am here to keep you safe. Sleep.”

  Hattie sighed, curled up and dropped quickly into merciful slumber.

  * * *

  Senemut tossed and turned on the hard floor beside Hattie’s bed. She had been asleep for hours, but he lay wide awake. Her delicate fragrance drifted down to him as the gentle sound of her breathing enveloped him. He groaned. Hori was right—he was helplessly in love with her. How had it happened? Hatshepsut had never meant more to Senemut than any other member of the royal family—someone to command his actions, not his heart. But since her husband’s death, she had changed. She was more decisive, more forthright, more sure of herself. It made her a better ruler. It also made her exceedingly seductive.

  He turned over and sighed. Regardless of how alluring she was, Hatshepsut was the regent and ruler of all Egypt, and he was but a common-born man. She had elevated him to a position of great authority, and she relied on his advice. Both were great honors, greater than he dared hope. But that in no way implied she desired his love. And even if she did… Senemut held his head in his hands. That way lay madness. For surely, to consummate such a love was to risk the wrath of all Egypt, and beyond that, the wrath of the gods.

  A faint sound roused him from his feverish thoughts. Frowning, he rose swiftly, ready to face whatever enemy appeared. The sound came again. It was Hattie, moaning in her sleep, harsh lines of fear etched into her face. “Nay,” she groaned, tossing and turning. “Please, do not…”

  “Shh, little one,” Senemut whispered, bending over her and stroking her hair. “Sleep, now. All is well.” He watched her face relax. She sighed, then turned over and fell again into a deep sleep.

  Caressing her hair one last time, he stared down at her now-peaceful face. His heart contracted painfully. Great Amun, how could he endure one more hour without folding her slender body in his arms, kissing her irresistible lips, professing his eternal love? Yet, how could he do any of those things and live? Clenching his jaw, he moved quietly away from the bed. It was almost dawn, and the camp would be stirring soon. For both their sakes, it was best that no one find him sleeping next to Hatshepsut’s bed.

  CHAPTER 12

  Hattie awakened the next morning stiff and sore, but strangely at peace. She opened her eyes slowly. Senemut was gone. She seemed to remember him whispering something about keeping watch outside once the sun rose.

  The bathtub was still in place. She arose from the bed and splashed some water on her face, then reached into a trunk for a fresh gown. She was struggling to fasten it when Senemut entered without ceremony.

  He took in the scene at a glance and strode to her side. “Let me help you, Hattie.” Swiftly, he fast
ened the gown over her left shoulder. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Aye, I did.” Hattie blushed. “Thank you for your help last night, and for saving my life. I fear I gave you poor recompense.”

  Senemut reached out and touched her cheek lightly with his fingertips. “You were most merciful on the battlefield yesterday. Your soldiers can speak of nothing else.”

  “It was certainly the least I could do, considering I sent them into the slaughter,” she mumbled.

  “Aye, well, that is the nature of battle.” He shrugged. “Are you ready? Snefru has been holding the leader of the Nubians, as you requested. Will you sentence him now?”

  Hattie sighed. “Aye. Of course. Bring him to my tent.”

  Senemut left, and shortly returned. Snefru followed close at his heels, dragging a nearly naked Nubian warrior behind him, trussed up in shackles like a runaway slave.

  “Majesty…” Snefru cuffed the prisoner and forced him to his knees. “This…this jackal is the leader of the rebels. What is Your Majesty’s pleasure? Shall I have the royal archers put him to death? Or mayhap Your Majesty would like to return him home to Egypt, and hang him by his heels outside the palace walls for all to see what becomes of those who rise up against pharaoh.”

  “Be silent.” She waved her hand at Snefru, and then turned her attention to the prisoner. “You, there, what is your name?”

  The man raised his head. Bruises covered his dark face; one eye had swollen almost shut. Cuts and scrapes covered his muscular torso, and a long gash ran the length of one forearm. Obviously, he had personally led his soldiers into combat. She saw fear shining from his eyes, but also a great deal of pride. He clenched his jaw tightly shut and said nothing, flexing his strong arms against the chains that bound him.

  “Remove his chains,” she ordered quietly.

  “But, Majesty—” Snefru began. She cut him short with a glance and he hastened to do her bidding, though he threw more than one critical look over his shoulder. As soon as he was free, the Nubian rose to his feet and massaged his chafed wrists. He did not respond to Hattie’s question.