King and Goddess by Judith Tarr

Author:Judith Tarr [Tarr, Judith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Hatshepsut, female Pharaoh, ancient Egypt, Egypt, female king, Senenmut, Thutmose III, novels about ancient Egypt
ISBN: 9781611385304
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2015-07-21T07:00:00+00:00

29

The queen regent was not merely angry. She was in a fair rage. And she could indulge the barest fraction of it.

“This will be kept quiet,” she said through clenched teeth. “And you, O my scribe, will stand surety for it.”

Senenmut bowed low. There was nothing of the lover in her now, and no remembrance of their nights together. She was queen wholly, and queen in wrath.

What she said to Neferure he did not know. They spoke alone together in a chamber bare of listening places, with Nehsi on guard at the door. They spoke long; and when Neferure came out she was white and shaken, too shocked for tears.

There would be no pilgrimage. But this far Hatshepsut granted the wisdom of Neferure’s stratagem: she allowed the queen to announce that, in sickness of the spirit, she would retreat for a time to the temple of Isis in Abydos. It was far enough from Thebes to be out of the court’s sphere, high and holy enough to suit a queen, and well enough guarded that Neferure’s secret might be safe there. There was no surety; but of this both Hatshepsut and Senenmut were certain. If Neferure remained in the palace at Thebes, there would be a magnificent scandal.

Neferure prepared with care. She began to summon priests and soothsayers, prophets and sorcerers, wisewomen and physicians. All of them found her lying languid in her bed, well and discreetly covered, professing no interest in rising to face the sun. They performed their rites and sacrifices, raised their reeks, even danced around her bed while she lay limp, arm flung over her eyes to conceal the helpless laughter.

“I grant you,” she said to Senenmut, some three handfuls of days after she had begun her deception, “they do mean well. But oh, Senenmut! The potion of ox tongue and crocodile egg and the dung of a maiden heifer born on the night of the new moon—it was all I could do not to shove it down that idiot doctor’s throat.”

“It’s well you didn’t,” Senenmut said. They were granted a rare few moments’ privacy: it was late, the horde of healers and priests had been dismissed, the maids were preparing their lady’s bath. He kept his voice low, even so; one never knew who might be listening. “That idiot doctor was kind enough to offer a highly satisfactory diagnosis. You are, he says, haunted by nightwalkers. They’re draining your blood and souls. You need greater help than mortal man can give.”

“Yes,” she said, “and Mother Isis is a great healer and protector of women. They’ll prescribe a pilgrimage, of course. Gods know they’ve been long enough about it. I thought no one would ever get to it.”

“That is your punishment for falsehood,” he said severely. She was laughing at him. He frowned as blackly as he could. “This is no matter for levity, child.”

“If I don’t laugh,” she said as soberly as he could have wished, “I’ll break and run screaming. I can’t hide . .

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