The Double Crown: Secret Writings of the Female Pharaoh (41 page)

I was borne out of the palace in a litter and carried along the avenues to be greeted by the jubilant populace. The old King, myself, tired and troubled, was dead; I went forth as the new King, younger and more vital, rededicated to his people. Reborn and strong. Able to maintain the unity of the Two Lands and the sanctity of Ma’at, able to preserve the miracle of creation, to satisfy the will of the gods. Fit to wear the Double Crown. The Living Horus.

Ah me, I wish that I could feel like that now. But I fear that I have lost that slim young form; I could not now run around the white walls, with or without the oar of state. I am weary and my heart is heavy in my breast. I have just come from an interview with Dhutmose, Vizier of the North, who was here to deliver his usual report. This time the news was not good. It is the first month of Akhet and the farmers of the North have heard that the waters show no sign of rising. They too fear that the inundation will be late and less than usual. May the gods forbid that it does not come at all.

Here endeth the twenty-second scroll.                      

Well I recall Her Majesty’s Myriad of Years. I was then twenty-one, employed in a quarry, but I made sure that I was in Memphis to witness the great festival, and an impressive one it was. Of course, I was not one of the select audience in the palace where the ceremonies took place, but I did see Her Majesty run around the white walls before going back inside to complete the ceremonies. She amazed everyone, for she was fleet of foot and did not seem to tire. She ran clad only in a simple tunic, and anyone could see that the Pharaoh looked young and slim.

The common people were astounded. I stood, cheers ringing in my ears, the scent of flowers crushed underfoot in my nose, near a stout peasant woman who was lost in admiration for the Pharaoh. “The great King has surely been renewed,” she said in awe. “She gained in girth after her Steward died, and she seemed very tired and downcast, and now look! She seems slight, and young, and strong! Truly, the gods do favour her!”

As for myself, what struck me most was not the demonstration of renewed vigour. No, as I stood among the crowd and watched the procession move past, with Her Majesty carried high on a kind of jewelled and gilded throne, the Double Crown upon her head and the crook and flail held in her hands, what I thought was that after all, the great King was but a slight female figure, and that she looked very much alone.

THE TWENTY-THIRD SCROLL

The reign of Hatshepsut year 21:
the first month of Akhet day 14

This new year, which began badly, has grown worse. First I had a visit from my daughter Meryetre that disturbed me greatly. As I have written, I was forced to give her hand to Commander Thutmose. For him, I believe it was a political marriage and not one he entered into with his heart. However, she was with child very soon. It must have been a most auspicious night when he bedded her to plant that seed, for my darling grandson Amenhotep is a child of great virility, cleverness and charm. He is also a very loving little boy, much attached to his wet nurse, who sees far more of him than his own mother. The year of his birth was indeed a very good year for me, when my great expedition to Punt returned and the gods were pleased. The child has now seen eight risings of the Nile and grows more delightful every day.

Meryetre comes from Memphis to visit and brings him to see me, not as often as I would wish, but they do come. When she arrived for her most recent visit she was in a state of great excitement. In fact, she could hardly wait for me to find the little model war chariot, a present from Khani, that Amenhotep loves to play with when he visits me. I saw to it that he had a tiger nut sweet and some grape juice, which he likes, and ordered some watered wine and dates for us.

“And how is it with you, my daughter?” I enquired with a sigh. Usually this question would bring forth numerous complaints, but not that day.

“It goes well, Mother,” she said, her dark eyes shining with some pleasure that she was hugging to herself with glee.

“Oh? Am I to be a grandmother a second time?” I asked. This seemed unlikely, since she had miscarried twice after the birth of her son. The second time I had gone to her, since I had to travel to Memphis at the time in connection with a building project, and I had been surprised at the urgency with which she had clung to me and at the depth of her sorrow. It was not the same, I would have thought, not as heartrending as losing a fully-formed babe, yet she had been distraught. There was not much that I could do, but I listened as she bewailed her loss, and I made her bowls of warm goat’s milk with honey as I had done when she was little and it seemed to comfort her.

“What? Oh, no! No, I am not with child. No, no. It is Thutmose, my husband, who has made me very happy.”

“Really?” Had he bought her jewels, I wondered. She has rather flashy taste and a collar of gold studded with jasper and carnelian can make her eyes light up.

“I am to be his Chief Wife,” she announced proudly. “He has set aside that Satioh who brings forth girl children only and who has become a slattern and a nag.”

At this I frowned. Satioh is a Mitannian princess and the Mitanni would not take kindly to an insult offered to one of their royal house. Could that have been his intention, I wondered. I suspect him of trying to create an excuse to take the field against the Mitanni.

Well, well, I thought. This is a shrewd move on the part of the runt. On the one hand it might enrage the Mitanni sufficiently to cause them to attack, which would force my hand in declaring war. On the other hand it strengthens his claim to the Double Throne. And since he has five daughters from the first wife, while his other sons by minor wives and concubines are all younger than Amenhotep and do not have the full blood royal, Meryetre will doubtless in time become the Mother of the King. So, it is certainly politic to make her the Chief Wife. No fool he, one must admit. And a move I could hardly oppose. No fool, indeed.

“Mother, you frown,” said Meryetre in an injured tone. Her voice had taken on the whining note I knew so well, that grated me as it had done all her life. “You are not pleased for me,” she complained. “You should be glad that he has given greater honour to me, who am Egyptian-born. She is no longer the sun of his eyes. He loves me better now.” She sniffed and a tear rolled down her cheek. “She has grown fat, and slatternly,” she added, wiping it away.

Yes, perhaps she has, my poor child, I thought, but while she may have lost her looks you never had any. In fact, you have always looked a great deal like your husband Thutmose, which may be the reason why he finds you acceptable. Both stocky little figures, both brown of eye with strong, slightly hooked noses and both with the buck teeth so common in the royal family, although mercifully they passed me by. For that matter, both bald, although of course Meryetre wears extraordinary, intricately plaited wigs. How two sisters could look as different as she and Neferure, my darling first-born, may she live, I do not understand. For Neferure, as I have written, was beautiful and made men catch their breath as she walked by. Perhaps it is not surprising Meryetre is always discontented, I thought.

I put my hand on hers and patted it. “I am happy if your husband honours you, my child,” I said. “It is the thought of possible political effects of a slight to the Mitanni that makes me frown. Be happy.”

She sniffed again and was partly mollified. But I lay awake most of that night, as I now have for several more. I feel as if I cannot draw enough breath. Also I am afraid to sleep, for I do not want a recurrence of my dream of war. I am being encircled, I am being pressed on all sides. They will force me into armed conflict and I do not want it. Yet that is not all; I must write truthfully. There is another matter that steals the sleep from my eyes.

Only a day later an event occurred that I still find virtually impossible to believe. For two people to be so close over so many years, and for the one to … His heart was tied to mine, and mine to his. Indissolubly. He knew that. How could he, how could he then … No, let me write it as it happened.

I had finished my morning session in the Grand Audience Chamber and had moved on to a smaller room that Hapuseneb as Vizier of the South uses as an office. I had matters to discuss with him. Praise be to the gods that it was private; if this episode had happened in front of large numbers of people, I do not know how I could have maintained any dignity. He was not there, but I was glad to sit for a few moments collecting myself. These days a full session tires me. I had sent my lady-in-waiting to fetch some cool juice, but she had not yet returned.

Hapuseneb does himself proud, I thought, looking around me at the elegant furniture, woven floor covering and superb collection of vases, many of which were surely imported. They were carefully set out on tables and chests. I noticed fine pottery vessels and others fashioned from rock crystal, alabaster and glass. A man who does well with the support of the Pharaoh.

Suddenly an altercation met my ears; someone was trying to obtain entry and the guards at the door were not allowing it.

I heard the guards’ low rumble and then a high-pitched woman’s voice arguing urgently.

“The morning audiences are over,” I heard one guard say, through the half-open door. “You must come back tomorrow.”

“The Pharaoh will wish to see me,” the female voice insisted. “Just enquire, that’s all.”

“We are not going to disturb Her Majesty, woman, I tell you, come back tomorrow!”

“Tell the Pharaoh it concerns the late Senenmut,” said the voice, clearly intending that I should overhear these words. “Just tell her, you’ll see …”

I went to the door. “Let her come in,” I told the guards. “Keep all others out. Come, then.”

The woman walked in, smiling triumphantly at the guards. Then she made a deep obeisance. “Thank you for seeing me, Majesty,” she said.

“Rise,” I said. “Your name?”

“Nefthys, Majesty.” She stood. I saw a woman somewhat smaller and also younger than I am. She was quite elegantly dressed in fine, pleated linen with a coloured sash and wore a necklace of silver set with amethysts. Many small plaits framed her oval face. A person of some status and means, I thought.

“You mentioned … Senenmut? He who was the Overseer of the King’s Temple, the architect of Djeser-Djeseru? That Senenmut?”

“The same, Majesty.”

“Well, what of him? You were related?” I wondered whether there could be a matter of property that she had come to me about. Yet Senenmut has been in the Afterlife these six years; surely all such issues will have been sorted out, I thought.

She nodded. “It’s about my sons, Majesty,” she stated confidently. “A pair of twins. They are now of an age to be properly trained as scribes, both having seen seven summers, and I wished to beg admittance to the palace school for them.”

Well, she had considerable presumption. I wondered who could have sired them that she should believe them to have such a claim on royal patronage. She herself had no connection with the palace, I was sure of that. I would have known of her, for she could be neither a servant nor a slave.

“Why should I allow them in?” I asked.

“Because he would have wished it, Majesty.”

“Who would?”

Her almond-shaped, amber eyes widened. “Senenmut, Majesty.”

“Indeed. So, you must be his sister. Yet I did not know he had one of that name. I know of Ahhotep and Nofret-Hor, but …”

“No, not his sister, Majesty. His wife.”