CHAPTER 6The wind tugged at the heavy ropes and the huge pegs that held them to the ground. The tent had been pitched against a rocky cliff as soon as the approach of the storm was called by the outrider. Boulders had been rolled over the edges of the outer covering of tar-soaked skins, but still the wind, blasting at the fabric, fought to rip it up, working at the smallest weaknesses, striving to reach the frail and frightened humans sheltering within.
Inside the royal tent only one showed no sign of fear. Angrily, impatiently, Hatshepsut strode to and fro, to and fro. Her entourage, cowering together, watched her as, head up and shoulders squared, eyes sparkling dangerously, she dared the fearsome storm god, Set, marauder and dweller in the desert, to invade her territory. She believed
