The Double Crown: Secret Writings of the Female Pharaoh (38 page)

THE TWENTY-FIRST SCROLL

The reign of Hatshepsut year 21:
the first month of Akhet day 5

Well, it is the new year, but it has not had an auspicious beginning. Yesterday afternoon, Hapuseneb came to the residential palace bearing bad news for me. He seemed anxious that I should hear it as soon as possible. I was annoyed, for I felt it could have waited for the morrow. But he was bursting to tell me.

Among the many duties of his office there is the task of monitoring the annual rising of the Nile. It is now that time of year when the green water should begin to appear in the south. However, it seems that this is not happening.

“Majesty,” said Hapuseneb, “the water level is low. There is reason for concern.” His lashless eyes were hooded, but I thought I detected a gleam of satisfaction. I have long suspected that Hapuseneb no longer supports me, and a poor inundation would undermine my powers as seriously as almost nothing else could do. He knows this very well.

“Are you sure?” I was immediately alarmed. I know that the dog-star Sothis is once more visible in the pre-dawn sky, so the flood should take place soon.

“It is too early to be sure,” he answered, typically cautious, “but the indications are not good. I have had a report from Elephantine. The Nilometer there does not show the extent of increase that one would expect.”

This was indeed cause for concern. “What about the vegetable harvest?” I asked.

“I fear the second harvest will not be very satisfactory,” he told me. “At its lowest point the river was extremely low, so irrigation was difficult.”

“We need to know the extent of food supplies in stock at depots across the country, as well as in the White House,” I said. “You should send to all the nomarchs and ask for tallies.”

“This has already been undertaken, Majesty.” He looked smug.

Of course, he needed such reports before the flood was in full spate, since agricultural activities must be suspended for three months during this time. Then farmers are employed on public works and live from the table of the ruler. Naturally we would have sufficient stores for this period, but if the inundation were really too low and planting could not take place, we would need far greater stores to take care of the people for much longer.

By the breath of Horus, I pray that he may be mistaken. Never has there been a danger of a failed inundation during my reign. Last year’s flood was normal and the harvest was very good. How can the waters not rise? Oh, Hapi, can you have forsaken me? This is Hatshepsut, whom you cradled and kept safe when she was a child. You have ever been on my side.

I shall make offerings. This cannot be.

Just as the Grand Vizier was leaving, a slave came running and made a deep obeisance. “Majesty,” she said, “Yunit has asked me … Yunit says …” She looked very upset and stuttered without making sense. She was new to the palace and it was the first time I had set eyes on her. She seemed overwhelmed by my presence.

“Yes, girl, what is it? Out with it.”

“Yunit is in labour, Majesty, and has been for some time. She …”

“Has the physician seen to her yet?”

“No, Majesty.”

Hapuseneb looked at her severely. “Surely you are not bothering the Pharaoh with the problems of female slaves,” he said. “Go to the palace housekeeper. Really, you should know your place.”

“I shall come to her,” I said, glaring at him. “Yunit is one of my favourites. I am concerned for her.”

“A dwarf, is she not?” She had served refreshments when he was with me more than once in the past. I do not think he would have remembered any other slave, but the diminutive Yunit, who is also very pretty, had clearly made an impression.

“Yes. And I think she carries a very large baby. It will be difficult.”

“Majesty is gracious,” he said loftily, clearly meaning that I was ridiculous. I ignored this, saying farewell and then walking swiftly along the corridors to the slave quarters at the back of the palace compound. I knew that Yunit would have been seen to by midwives. Also there was a physician whose responsibility it was to see to the health of the palace slaves; after all, a sick slave cannot put in a day’s work. But he was not a man who had had much experience of deliveries and the midwives would not have called for him to assist with a difficult birth. They could usually do whatever was needed.

As soon as I entered the room it was clear to me that the situation was bad. The room smelled rank; Yunit lay on a pallet drenched with sweat and her hair, normally thick and wavy, was nothing more than dank strings. Her eyes seemed to have sunk into her head. She lay staring at the ceiling, making tired little whimpering sounds, much as an animal might do that had been caught in a trap for many hours.

Two midwives, one considerably older than the other, fell to their knees and kissed the floor when they saw me. They too looked exhausted.

“Majesty!” exclaimed the older of the two. “You are too gra-cious!”

I walked to the bed and took Yunit’s hand. She did not even turn her head to look at me. “Yunit,” I said, softly. “It is I, Pharaoh. I have come to help you.”

Dazed eyes turned to me and two fat tears rolled over her cheeks.

“It hurts,” she whispered. “Can you make it stop? Please make it stop!”

“How long has she been in labour?” I asked.

“A night, a day and another night, and today also,” the older midwife told me. “We have tried everything we know, but nothing will avail. She is too tired now to squat upon the bricks. She fell over and we let her lie down. It is not good, but …”

I turned to the girl slave who had fetched me. “Go and call Hapu,” I ordered her. “Run. Tell him it is urgent.”

“H-H-Hapu?”

“The Chief Royal Physician. You do know what he looks like?”

“Y-y-yes, Majesty.”

“Well, then. Hurry.”

I sat down on a stool next to the pallet and stroked Yunit’s hand. “We will do the best we can, my dear.”

“Bek,” she sobbed, “can I see Bek?”

He had of course been banished by the midwives. “Soon,” I promised. “We’ll call him soon.”

Hapu came promptly and conferred with the midwives. Then he said, “Majesty, I must examine the patient. But it has been so long … I think we will have to try the option that we almost tried when the little prince was born.”

I understood. “Very well,” I said, “you must decide. I shall await the outcome in my rooms. You will let me know?”

“At once, Majesty.”

The sun was setting when at last Hapu was admitted to my presence. His round face was tired and solemn and his tunic was stained with blood. He made an obeisance.

“Tell me quickly,” I said. “Could you … did you …”

“We cut the babe out of her body,” he said, and sighed. His hands, I noticed, were trembling. “It was a perfectly formed little boy child, not a dwarf. Normal, and big. She was never going to be able to give birth in the usual way. Had I been called sooner, perhaps … But I fear, Majesty, that the babe was dead. It must have died hours ago.”

My eyes pricked. I was reminded, naturally, of my own boy child who never breathed. It always seems to me to be such an enormous waste when a child does not breathe. For what did Khnum painstakingly fashion the little body, if he would not also breathe the life force into the newly-born? It does not make sense to me. Truly, at times the gods are strange

“And Yunit?”

“We sewed up the wound. Minhotep assisted me. But she was very weak. I do not know whether she will last the night. I am sorry, Majesty.”

“You did your best, Hapu, I know that. It must be a hard thing to do.”

“Yes, Majesty, it is,” he said, looking surprised.

“Thank you. Thank you for your efforts.”

Within an hour I was informed that Yunit had passed into the Afterlife. Bek had been with her, said the older midwife, who came to inform me, and when he realised that she was no longer breathing, he let out such a howl that the slaves thought Seth had descended upon the palace and there was consternation. But the slaves’ physician had given him a draught of poppy juice, she said, and he was now asleep.

I told her that I would see him in the morning.

Now more than ever, I realise what a blessing it was that the little Amenhotep was born naturally and that he survived. And Meryetre, of course. Poor little Yunit. The burden borne so long, and all for naught. I think she was already very weary when her time came. I am tired myself, and I feel deeply sad. So sad that it is almost as if my bones ache. Somehow these events seem like bad omens.

Ah well, perhaps it will divert me to continue my journal.

By the fifteenth year of my reign, the Great Commander Thutmose was giving me considerable trouble. I did not like the airs that he had been putting on since his military triumph earlier that year. No longer did he live quietly and mind his tongue; my spies in Memphis reported that he was being openly critical of certain decisions I had made. I thought that it was time to blunt the claws of the wolf cub again, as I had had to do before.

Now the words of my royal father so long ago on that first journey together came into my mind: “
The love of the people is a precious thing, a resource in adversity
.” At last I understood his meaning. For I knew I had a formidable ally that I could call upon to support me: none less than the people of Egypt. Oh yes, the people of Khemet loved and revered me. They had known peace and plenty, indeed they had flourished under my rule. They did not desire a warmonger upon the Double Throne. I would call upon them to help me make it quite clear who the Pharaoh was and while I breathed would always be. Public acclamation of an overwhelming nature – that was what I needed and was determined to achieve.

So I decided that it was time for me to hold my Sed festival. My jubilee, my Myriad of Years. This is a tradition stretching back in time over more than a thousand years. It has been usual for the Pharaoh to celebrate the Heb-Sed after thirty years of rule, but my late father the Pharaoh, may he live, held his Sed festival after fifteen years had passed, not long before his death. If he could decide that this was right, then so could I.

I knew that this plan of mine entailed serious risks, for the Sed festival is a stringent test of the Pharaoh’s spiritual and physical powers and the consequences of failure would be severe. I could not afford to stumble in the slightest degree. If I did, it would be said that I was no longer fit to reign. In the past the Sed festival had been a way to rid the throne of an occupant who had grown too ill or too weak to carry on. It could lead to my downfall. Should it be true that the gods did not want a woman upon the Double Throne, this would be the moment for them to demonstrate their ire, to repudiate and to destroy me.

Equally, if it were clearly successful, it would strengthen my position, proving positively that I belonged upon the throne. I well knew what the Sed festival entails, since I had assisted my father (may he live) at his Heb-Sed, in the role of the Great Royal Wife. It is the time when the Ka of the gods must mingle once more with the Ka of the Pharaoh. The time when the Pharaoh, providing he passes all the tests, becomes more than ever divine, marking a new cycle in the life of the King. And the influence of a successful Sed celebration, I knew, carries over into the Afterlife. It ensures that the Pharaoh’s reign is perpetuated for all eternity. Indeed, I thought, that was worth striving for. High stakes. All to lose and all to gain.

Yes, I would go ahead. I would risk all. But I would plan everything meticulously and I would prepare with great thoroughness. I would begin at once.

My father had marked the occasion by having his architect, the great Ineni, erect a superb pair of obelisks before the entrance to the temple of Amen-Ra at Karnak. As I have written, my coronation had been marked by the erection of my own obelisks under the guidance of Senenmut, and they stood at the eastern end of the temple, their gold cladding glittering in the sun, proud witnesses to my ascension to the throne. Now, I decided, I would emulate my royal father once more. I would commission another pair of obelisks to mark my jubilee, and I would place them at the very spot where the God had dipped to the child Thutmose. That should send a powerful message to all concerned, I thought.

It was in fact my royal father who appeared to me in a dream and told me to do this. In my dream he instructed me to remove the wooden roof of his hypostyle hall in the temple at Karnak and to erect my obelisks in the space thus created. Who was I to gainsay the will of the transfigured dead? I gave the orders. These obelisks, I said, should be taller than any that had ever been erected by any Pharaoh before me; their points should reach the sky.

Since my devoted Senenmut had died the previous year, I entrusted the task of overseeing the creation, transport and erection of these items to my steward Amenhotep. He is a very different kind of person to the one who was my right hand, yet very efficient in his own way. He does not have Senenmut’s endearing enthusiasm, but he plans everything down to the finest detail and nothing escapes his severely critical eye. I also charged him with the organisation of the country-wide festival itself, which would stretch over five days. I gave him a free hand in planning a feast that the people of Khemet would thoroughly enjoy, an occasion to remember. Of course it would demand deep coffers, but the nobles and others of high status would vie with each other in helping to bear the costs.