At last, Nesi stopped in front of a tall setof double doors guarded by two fierce-looking men with spears.“Majesty,” she said, then slipped away, leaving Hattie to herdoom.
Hattie’s stomach twisted as she watched theservant’s retreating back. She wanted to call to Nesi, tell her towait, 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 acrosstheir chests; then they threw open the doors. An official dressedin a fine white linen kilt and gold neck and armbands bowed andushered her in. Striking his long staff against the floor, heannounced her presence to the room full of strangers. “King’s GreatWife, King’s Daughter, King’s Sister, God’s Wife of Amun, Lady ofthe Two Lands, Her Majesty Hatshepsut!”
Every painted eye and bewigged head in theroom swiveled to her and stared. A sudden impulse seized her toturn and run, screaming, from the palace. Surely, living in theEgyptian desert couldn’t be as trying as this?
Hattie forced the impulse down withdifficulty. The only hope she had of returning to her own time wasto play the part she’d been thrust into, and play it well enough tobe above suspicion. Holding her head high, she commanded her shakylegs to carry her, step by agonizing step, to the twin thrones on araised dais at the opposite end of the room. When she reached them,she paused. Where was she supposed to sit? Would she create a furorif she sat in the wrong one?
The courtier at the end of the room criedout, “His Majesty, King’s Son, Prince Tuthmosis!”
A young boy slouched into the room througha side door. So, this was the heir that the ghost—or thehallucination?—had spoken of. He was about eight years old, dressedin a white kilt, his head shaved except a long forelock hangingdown on one side. He had a low forehead, a long, narrow face, andsmall ears. His front teeth stuck out, an effect he tried tocounter by keeping his lips pressed tightly shut.A pity he hadn’tbeen born thirty-five hundred years later, Hattie thought sympathetically.Braces would dowonders for him.
He slumped down on the throne on the left.Wonderful! At least she knew which throne was hers now. Hattie tooka 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 histeeth.
“What is the matter? Did you get up on thewrong side of the bed?” she inquired pleasantly, still smiling.
He stared at her wide-eyed from under raisedbrows. “Which side is the wrong side?”
“Never mind, never mind. I am sorry aboutyour father. You must be very sad.” She put her hand gently on hisarm.
A tear rolled down one cheek and he pulledhis arm away. “I am a man now and will be pharaoh one day,” hedeclared stoutly. “I do not need any pity.”
Her heart went out to the boy. He wasobviously trying so hard to bear up under his grief, and his adultresponsibilities as heir to the throne. Hattie reached out to himagain, but any words she might have spoken were cut short by acommotion at the other end of the room. The double doors openedagain and two men—one in a ragged, stained tunic and the otherwearing a fringed leather kilt and helmet—were ushered in by ashaven-headed, rotund, well-dressed priest. The courtier who hadannounced Hattie rushed up the aisle ahead of the three men. Out ofthe corner of her eye, Hattie saw Senemut slip into the back of theroom. Instantly, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from hershoulders and she sighed deeply. He winked at her and she grinnedback.
“Your Majesty Hatshepsut, Prince Tuthmosis, Iplace before you the soldier Ahmose and Merisu, a potter of Thebes.They are accompanied by Hapuseneb, High Priest of Amun,” thecourtier announced.
The priest strode arrogantly up to the throneand bowed low. “Majesties, I have brought these men before yourroyal highnesses for your judgment. May Amun guide your hearts.” Hestepped back.
Hattie glanced quickly at Tuthmosis. He wasstaring at a spot over the priest’s head, obviously bored. “You mayproceed,” she said, hoping it was close to the correctresponse.
The priest pointed to the potter.“Speak.”
Merisu stepped forward, then threw himself tothe floor at Hattie’s feet in abject terror.
“Rise,” Hattie said softly. “Do not beafraid. You may speak.”
Merisu glanced up and she smiled at himencouragingly. He stood and began his tale in a halting voice. “Oh,Divine One, I have a…a small workshop on the outskirts of the citywhere I make pottery. Very fine pottery,” he added diffidently.
Hattie nodded. “I am sure it is.”
“On the fifth day of the first month ofinundation, this soldier…” He stopped to gesture timidly at Ahmose.“He came into my workshop. My daughter was there, and he spoke toher in a most disrespectful manner, pressing his attentions uponher. When I protested—for my daughter is unmarried, and has beenwell brought up—he grew angry, and dashed to the floor every potand bowl in the shop. He struck me and chased my daughter,screaming, from my sight. She feared to come home until afternightfall. Majesty, I have asked him to recompense me for thedamage, but he refuses.” The man glanced again at Hattie, and thenbacked away quickly, bowing and trembling.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” shesaid, pointing at the soldier Ahmose.
Ahmose swaggered forward. “Majesties, thispotter was most rude to me.” He jabbed his thumb disdainfully inMerisu’s direction. “He offended me, refusing my advances to hisdaughter. I had thought to honor her with my attention, but she wasnot pretty enough to be worth the insult I was forced to bear. Hereceived what he deserved. I owe him nothing.” He nodded at Hattieand Tuthmosis, then stepped confidently back to his place.
Hapuseneb, the priest, came forward, aself-satisfied smirk on his round face. “Your Majesties can surelysee how noble Ahmose has been wronged. This lowly potter hasaffronted—”
“I can see no such thing.” Hattie cut himshort, holding up her hand. She glanced at Tuthmosis. He stared upat the ceiling, apparently having nothing to say. She sighed andcontinued. “What I see is an arrogant
