When she was very young, her mother had been more fun to be with. Hatshepsut, Senmut and she had sometimes picnicked together in a place remote from the formality of the court. There were even evenings when her mother had come to her bedchamber, dismissed the nurse, and sat at the foot of her bed telling her stories, sometimes showing such tenderness that long after she had left the room the child could still feel the warmth and comfort of her arms around her.
Senmut had been more fun in those days too. It was before he grew too busy to spend time with her. How she loved him! When he tried to teach her something, it was a pleasure to learn. With him each hieroglyph had a story to it — often more than one. She felt the mystery of them, the magic of them. She felt she was exploring the invi
