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There were many projects, but Shai knew exactly the one to which she referred.
It was their secret endeavor, concocted amongst Heba, Shai and Senenmut. After the many assassination attempts, Senenmut pointed out that Thutmose was targeted by virtue of being Heba’s natural born son. He was the direct descendant of kings and queens.
On the other hand, other royal children were safe from political intrigue, unless they became usurpers themselves. For their blood wasn’t “pure.”
The irony wasn’t lost on Heba and Shai.
One of them, Shai couldn’t recall who, suggested that Heba distance her association from Thutmose by recording him as her step-son, instead of real son.
There were palace insiders who knew the truth, of course, but the masses outside only knew what was spread to them. If the threat came from without, which the most recent assassination attempts did, then these new lies could help protect Thutmose from future aggression.
They brought Thutmose II’s concubine into their plot. She had a daughter named Neferure. The girl and Heba’s son were of similar age. It took only a slight, easily missed nuance to change the symbol in official records from son to step-son, from step-daughter to daughter.
A daughter of Heba’s would not be targeted as a son would. A girl child was unimportant. Only to be married off for alliances and the consolidation of power.
Thus decided, over the past year, Shai and Senenmut had scoured all of the written records in Egypt to make the small changes and make a lie into truth.
It was working. There had not been a single assassination attempt on Thutmose’s life for many months.
“It is well underway,” Shai replied. “The Pharaoh is safe.”
“He is still the rightful ruler when he comes of age,” she murmured. “He is still his father’s son.”
This last bit was for Senenmut’s benefit. Not even her trusty steward knew of the deeper lie that Shai and Heba perpetrated.
“But now he has more freedom to run and ride and train for battle,” the steward interjected.
“Once he comes of age, he can be sent off with the armies to explore new lands without fearing threat to his safety upon leaving Egyptian soil.”
A small, triumphant smile curled Heba’s lips.
“Yes. He can have a real boyhood that other Pharaohs cannot afford. He can get away from this snake-infested Palace life and grow up to become the warrior king he was meant to be.”
They shared a brief look between them. A mother’s gladness and a father’s pride.
Just as quickly, the connection was gone. Heba was all business once more.
“We leave the day after tomorrow for the Land of Punt,” she said matter-of-factly.
“We travel first to Wadi Gawasis by caravan. From there, we will sail south upon the Red Sea for about thirty days and nights, before we will reach the Land of Punt.”
“Bring a small troop of your best warriors, Captain,” she requested of Shai. “Preferably those with solid sea legs to hold them steady on the voyage.”
“It will be done,” he replied deeply, bowed stiffly and retreated from her presence as fast as his legs could carry him.
Thirty days and nights.
It seemed like a sentence had been handed down. For this was perhaps the only time he had left of her before she made the match with a foreign king.
Chapter Eight
“Where perception is, there also are pain and pleasure, and where these are, there, of necessity, is desire.”
—Aristotle
Modern Day. Luxor, Egypt.
“Wait! Let me.”
