***
That night, after the banquet, I returned to my small room in the harem. I passed by one near mine, the room that Thut had occupied my whole life. We’d spent many nights there together, whispering in the dark, talking about nothing and everything, slipped from it to haunt the hidden recesses of Ipet–Isut, departed from it by day to explore desert and valley and the hills along the river. The door was ajar and I stepped inside. Nothing remained except Thut’s bed. The rest of his possessions had already been moved to the royal bedchamber once occupied by his father. I took a seat on the edge of the bed. For as long as I could remember, Thut had been my friend. We’d learned, explored, laughed together. We’d shared our deepest secrets, our hopes, our fears. The empty room was for me a visible sign that my world had changed forever. I was still a girl, but he was now a king, with responsibilities and cares I couldn’t even begin to imagine. I felt as if Thut had been taken from me, that the boy I had known my whole life was gone. Sorrowing, I lay down on his old bed and cried myself to sleep.
1478 BC
Regnal Year 2 – Thutmose III
I stood beside Thut near the bow of the royal boat, headed north down the river to Mennefer, the ancient city founded by Kemet’s first king, Horus–Narmer, in a time beyond memory. My pleated skirt swirled about my legs in the breeze, the sun warmed my bare shoulders and back. My long red hair tumbled halfway to my waist and strands blew across my face. Thut was wearing his yellow and white nemes headdress, and a simple white bag tunic embroidered in gold, and a gold broad collar with a vulture design in red and blue and green faience. Once we reached Mennefer, the northern capital, Thut would begin his military training.
Thut was in his second year on the throne. I’d spent most of that time in the harem at Waset, with Nefer, pursuing my studies under Senenmut. Thut had presided in the audience hall each day alongside Hatshepsut, tending to Kemet’s affairs, learning all he could from her and his advisors. He was taking his responsibilities as king quite seriously. He was still my friend – his kingship had not altered our relationship in that way at all, despite my fears that it would – and most days we managed to dine with each other at least once, along with Nefer and Thut’s friend Ahmose. We’d even managed to slip off together by ourselves to wander the west bank and talk in peace a few times, though only at long intervals. On this journey down the river, with Hatshepsut and Iset and their various advisors occupied in deep and separate discussions on board, I’d been able to spend as much time as I wanted with him, and for that I was grateful. But in just a few days we’d be separated, for who knew how long – he at Mennefer and army camps in the North, me at Waset. I could hardly stand the thought.
I ran my hand along the railing. The royal boat was magnificent, more than two hundred feet long, made of highly polished cedar from Setjet. The wood glowed darkly and gave off a warm resinous perfume. The boat’s profile was beautiful, its high prow gracefully rising in the shape of a lotus blossom on a stalk, its stern steeply raked back over the boat. Nearly every surface was richly decorated with gold or copper. A cabin, its roof supported by thirty–six palmiform columns, occupied the rear third of the boat, its walls covered with brightly painted images of lotus blossoms. The cabin had an antechamber and main cabin and two sleeping cabins, one for Thut and Iset, one shared by Hatshepsut and Nefer and me. When we stopped each evening, the crew and the rest of those accompanying the royal party slept in tents on shore. A canopy extended in front of the cabin, shading two thrones – for Thut and Hatshepsut – and a small table and several chairs. An open–sided baldachin with a slightly arched roof occupied a portion of the deck near the bow, and that’s where Nefer and I spent most of our time. The eye of Horus decorated both bow and stern. Pennants flew atop the mast and its furled sail. A carved falcon’s head topped each of the two rudders, one on either side of the stern.
Just now Hatshepsut and Senenmut and her other advisors were seated together in the shade of the canopy, heads close together. Iset was in the cabin with hers. The two mothers were, as usual, avoiding each other – Iset still hadn’t gotten over Hatshepsut being appointed regent instead of her. On more than one occasion I’d overheard Iset allude to the day when Thut and Nefer would be married and Iset would be put in charge of the royal harem and would make Nefer pay for Hatshepsut’s treatment of her. I’d never mentioned it to Nefer; there was no sense making her worry about something that might not come to pass. I was certain Thut would never let his mother do anything to make Nefer suffer.
I never tired of watching the riverbanks as we moved swiftly downstream, the river churned white by thirty oarsmen on each side of the boat who added to the speed of the current. The inundation had long since receded and fields had been planted and farmers swarmed everywhere, tending their crops as their ancestors had from time immemorial. In many places great basins sparkled on the cultivated plain, their water trickling into dike–lined irrigation ditches and bringing life to fields of vegetables and melons during the hot dry growing season. I saw mud huts, cows, sheep and goats in the fields, cranes and herons fishing in the shallows along the bank and in patches of reeds and papyrus taller than a man. Birds rose in fright as we passed small islands, descending to carpet nearby sandbars. There were fishermen in reed huts along the riverbanks or poling papyrus boats. At night scattered campfires glimmered and smoke rose to the stars.
Our journey was slow; we stopped at every major town and temple so that the people could see the king and his regent, and so officials could make reports and pledges of fealty. Nearly every night we attended a banquet hosted by a local dignitary. At each, Hatshepsut and Nefer took the places of honor beside Thut; Iset was relegated to the background, and I could see her resentment growing each and every day.
Two days before our scheduled arrival at Mennefer we put ashore for the night at Dahshur, one of the city’s ancient necropolises that stretched for miles atop the plateau on the west side of the river, south of the great burial grounds of Saqqara and Abusir and Meidum and Giza. A little after first light we set out for the necropolis, the royals carried in palanquins, the rest of us on foot. I walked beside Nefer and Thut, who shared a palanquin; Senenmut was just ahead of me, conversing with Hatshepsut. The going was pleasant in the cool of the morning, through green well–watered fields of waving emmer. We passed through groves of palm trees, and shortly thereafter began to climb a path that wound up the face of a low rocky escarpment. At its top was desert, the Red Land, a sandy barren waste without limit to north, south and west, treeless, strewn with dunes, golden in the morning light, the sky above it hazy with dust. Sand stung my cheek, for the wind blew hard and hot here. The full might of the sun suddenly beat fiercely on my back, and I began to sweat.
Thut got down from his palanquin at the top of the escarpment to walk beside me. A servant with a sunshade hurried after to keep the sun off him, and a fan bearer moved close to keep him cool. Me they ignored. Thut was, as usual, impatient, and we strode quickly across the desert. Soon everyone but his Medjay bodyguards – dark–skinned Nubian mercenaries – were far behind us. Thut pointed across the wastes to where two great pyramids rose like mountains, about a mile from each other. One seemed perfect; the other was strangely bent, the slope of its upper portion much less than the lower.
“Those pyramids, King Sneferu’s second and third, were erected more than twelve hundred years ago, when kings were still experimenting with how to build their tombs,” Thut told me. “Sneferu tried first at Meidum, but the pyramid’s sides were at too steep an angle, and when structural problems became evident he abandoned it. His engineers moved here to Dahshur and started over.” He pointed to the oddly–shaped pyramid. “That was his second. But as it rose it began to collapse of its own weight, so he abandoned it too and tried a third time.” Thut indicated the pyramid with a reddish tint. “His engineers got it right at last. That one is perfect. In fact, it’s the second largest, exceeded in size only by that of Sneferu’s son Khufu at Giza. Once the R
ed Pyramid was done, Sneferu returned to the Bent Pyramid and strengthened the lower level by building a support structure around its outside. Then he placed a second, smaller pyramid with less steep sides atop it. The records tell us that the engineers immediately accounted for every crack and settling issue as they built, so it may be the most solid pyramid of them all.”
“And the one at Meidum?”
“Sneferu returned there and finished it as well. Though the records say he was buried here, in the Red Pyramid.”
“Are we going to walk all the way to them?” I asked. The sand was already hot beneath my leather sandals.
Thut shook his head no. “Today we’re visiting the pyramid of the third king Senwosret.”
“Who placed his own statues in King Mentuhotep’s temple at Waset?”
“The very one. Senwosret was of the house that expanded Kemet’s borders after Mentuhotep’s family reunited the Two Lands more than four hundred years ago. I’ve read about him in the Annals – he ruled for almost four decades and was a great builder. He was an impressive and mighty warrior – he stood six and a half feet tall – and he launched devastating campaigns into Nubia and pushed our boundaries farther south than any other king, all the way to the Second Cataract. I once read a copy of the inscription he placed on a stela there: ‘I carried off their women, I carried off their subjects, went forth to their wells, smote their bulls; I reaped their grain and set fire to it.’”
“He’s your favorite king?” I guessed.
Thut smiled. “One worthy of emulation, don’t you think? He built seventeen forts between the first and second cataracts, and his house created a professional army for the first time to garrison them. He also extended trade into the North and East, and built widely. He was also a far–seeing administrator. You see, Mery, in the years when the Two Lands were splintered, before Mentuhotep, the nome was the primary unit of government – there were about forty of them strung out along the river – and because there was no single strong king the nomarchs filled the void and became the true rulers of Kemet. They passed their posts to their sons and ignored the decrees of kings and pretty much did whatever they wanted. Senwosret pulled government oversight back to the capital. He absorbed the powerful provincial families into the state bureaucracy, and redirected their influence and wealth from their home districts to Mennefer. He raised the sons of the nomarchs in his per’aa, and when they were grown he assigned them to the nomes of their birth as state officials. They were eternally loyal to him thereafter. The king took control of what had been nomarchal wealth, and bureaucrats became more pervasive throughout the land. New departments were formed to oversee Upper and Lower Kemet. The southernmost nine nomes were reorganized into the Head of the South. The Office of the People’s Giving consolidated control of all labor under the king. He created a national treasury, offices of Fields and Cattle, and a permanent army. The primary area of local government became town instead of nome, with the mayor the chief officer.”
“I’m amazed you know so much about King Senwosret, Thut,” I said admiringly.
“I’ve studied every aspect of his reign. The Two Lands became rich under his rule.”
“You intend to emulate him as king,” I guessed.
Thut vigorously shook his head no. “I’ll surpass him, Mery.”
It was the kind of bold pronouncement I’d learned to expect from Thut. He never held back in anything, whether it was a game of Senet or Dog and Jackals or a hunt in the desert or shooting contest or, it seemed, plans for his kingdom.
The rest of the royals descended from their palanquins when we reached the foot of a wide stone causeway that led to a temple at the base of Senwosret’s pyramid which, though far smaller than either of Sneferu’s, still rose high over our heads. I walked between Thut and Nefer; Hatshepsut was just behind us. Many of the buildings clustered around the pyramid were in poor shape, nothing but mud–brick foundations littered with limestone fragments. Some of the immense limestone facing blocks were missing from the lower levels of the pyramid.
“All this destruction was caused by the Chiefs of the Foreign Lands,” Hatshepsut informed us. “The farther north we go and the closer we get to their seat of power in the delta, the worse it is.” Hatshepsut stopped, put her hand on a damaged block of stone, addressed Thut fervently. “Majesty, we must restore these monuments, and the rest the wretches damaged throughout the land. The ka of all the kings of the Two Lands is in you; what the wretches did to your ancestors they did to you. We must restore the glory that once was.”
“On that we agree, Regent,” Thut replied.
We investigated the temple on the south side of the pyramid at the end of the causeway, then circled the pyramid to visit a second temple and a chapel on its north side, as well as several buildings dedicated to Senwosret’s wives. The interior walls of each were smoothly plastered and painted yellow or light green, and decorated with colorful images. We were clearly not the first visitors; many doorways and dadoes were covered with graffiti written in hieratic in black ink.
I read one out loud: “There came the scribe Inkaef to see the temple of the third Senwosret and he found it beautiful in his heart, more than any other temple.”
Hatshepsut echoed his comment. “The architectural and painting styles of Senwosret’s era were much purer than today, much closer to that adopted by the first kings,” she told us. “Craftsmen have lost much skill these past centuries. Their execution has become clumsy. We would do well, Nephew, to send our own craftsmen here, and to Saqqara and Giza, to study the old ways and include the best of it in your buildings, both architecture and style of decoration.”
“I will see to it, Majesty, if that is your wish,” Senenmut said.
“It is,” Thut replied. “The Regent’s mind and mine are one in this.”
Before we finished our visit, Thut, Nefer and I left graffiti of our own.
We did not return to the boat that night, but camped instead along the riverbank. We ate close around a blazing campfire, the sky above us awash with stars, the river gurgling powerfully past, insects noisily buzzing and chirping. Hatshepsut was with us, and Iset, and Senenmut, and Ahmose Pen–Nekhbet, who had been Nefer’s first tutor. Thut’s friend Ahmose squeezed in beside me, as usual. Raised since infancy in the king’s per’aa, along with Thut and Nefer and me, he was an inch or so taller than Thut, wide–eyed, more muscular, quick to laugh. Ahmose was going into the army along with Thut to, as he said, “look after him and keep him out of trouble.”
“Tell us about the warrior–kings who reunified the Two Lands – my ancestors, and the king’s,” Hatshepsut prompted Ahmose Pen–Nekhbet after dinner was finished.
“As you wish, Majesty,” he said. He paused for a moment, collected his thoughts, his deeply–lined face pensive in the firelight. “I have been many things in my long life,” he began. “Wearer of the royal seal, chief treasurer of the land, herald of the king, tutor of the king’s daughter.” He tilted his head towards Nefer, sitting across from him next to her mother. “But in my youth, before all that, I joined the army, much as you are about to do, Majesty,” he said to Thut. “I followed the kings of Upper and Lower Kemet, the living gods, on campaign. I was with their majesties when they went to the south and north countries, to the eastern and western deserts – every place they went – the first King Ahmose, King Amenhotep” – he looked at Hatshepsut – “your father, the first King Thutmose, and your brother–husband as well. Not once in all those years was I separated from the king on a battlefield. Not one of them was injured by any enemy in my presence.” He looked at young Ahmose. “It is a record you must live up to, protecting the king, your friend,” he said sternly.
“I will. With my life.”
Ahmose then looked at me, boldly, as if I should be impressed by his promise. I blushed a little. Ahmose liked me – a lot. I was absolutely certain that in a year, when we were both twelve and old enough, he’d try to take me to wife. That’s something I’d never agree
to, for when I dreamed of love and marriage and such – deep in the night – it was Thut who filled my mind, not Ahmose. I was crazy about Thut and had been as long as I could remember, though I’d never told anyone – especially not Nefer. Marriage between Thut and me was, of course, impossible. He and Nefer would someday become man and wife, as their father had wished. Plus, he was a king and I was a commoner. His mother would never let me have anything to do with him. But I’d never settle for Ahmose. I’d already decided I’d never marry, for no one would ever measure up to Thut in my eyes.
“Barely a hundred years ago,” the old soldier continued, “Kemet was divided. The Chiefs of the Foreign Lands occupied Ta–mehi, the delta, and ruled the North from their capital, Avaris, while the rightful king resided at Waset and ruled only the South. During the reign of the second King Seqenenre Tao, the pretender in the North goaded him into war. The king moved north with his army, taking back territory, until he was at the very gates of Avaris. But he was captured in battle and executed. He suffered five mortal wounds in all – a jagged hole on his right forehead, an ax blow at his hairline, a spear hole to the right of his right eye, and two more. His body was already rotting when it was recovered and brought home for burial.
“His son Kamose, just a teenager, succeeded Seqenenre Tao. When he took the throne Kamose’s kingdom stretched from just south of the Faiyum all the way to the First Cataract. He wanted to resume his father’s war at once, but was dissuaded by his court. Eventually he did attack. He caught the enemy by surprise and won some minor victories. But he died after ruling only five years, his work unfinished, the wretches still in control of the North.
Beauty of Re Page 4
