I, of course, was invisible to everyone in the audience hall, unless I was called upon to translate, after which I melted into the background again. Being invisible, Hatshepsut and her advisors spoke freely in front of me. I’d closely observed how the Two Lands was governed these past years, how Hatshepsut and her advisors dealt with petitioners and ambassadors and Kemet’s officials and their issues. I had the distinct impression that the kingdom was extraordinarily well–run under Hatshepsut’s leadership, and even more prosperous than it had been under the rule of Nefer’s father. Why, even delegations from far–off Keftiuh, an island in the Great Green, regularly traveled to Waset now, bearing gifts for the Regent. Some of their craftsmen, left behind at the royal court, were even somewhat influencing the style of our local craftsmen. Hatshepsut’s advisors were all clearly devoted to her, followed her without question, and were united in their purpose. She governed in her own right, though, certainly no one’s puppet or figurehead, listening to everyone’s advice but making all major decisions herself. I shuddered to think how poorly Kemet would be faring if Iset had been appointed regent.
The last of the day’s petitioners had left the hall a few moments ago and the royal herald had closed the door behind them. Only Hatshepsut’s closest advisors remained. I scanned their faces – Vizier Aametshu, Chancellor Neshi, Chief Steward Amenhotep, Nefer’s old tutor Ahmose Pen–Nekhbet, the architect Ineni, Senenmut, Treasurer Thutmosis, the high priest Hapuseneb, Overseer of the Seal Ty, Chief Steward Wadjet–Renpet, Amun’s Second Prophet Mahu, a few more. All were solemn, as if some great issue weighed upon their minds.
“Each night this past week I’ve received the same dream,” Hatshepsut told her advisors, seemingly troubled.
“Can you describe the dream, Majesty?” Hapuseneb asked.
“I saw Amun–Re take the form of my father the king to have intercourse with my mother.”
“You’re certain?” Hapuseneb asked sharply.
The other advisors looked at each other.
“Yes. I have no doubt,” Hatshepsut replied.
“A powerful dream, Majesty!” Hapuseneb said joyfully.
“Unprecedented!” Mahu echoed.
“But what does it mean?” Hatshepsut sounded perplexed.
The advisors watched the high priest expectantly.
“Clearly, Amun predestined Your Majesty to rule Kemet as king while you were still in your mother’s womb!”
I stared at Hatshepsut, stunned. She was supposed to be king? A dream sent by the gods said so?
Hatshepsut showed no surprise at the priest’s pronouncement.
“But Kemet has a king. Thutmose. Why would the gods send such a dream to Regent Hatshepsut now?” Ahmose Pen–Nekhbet asked the high priest.
Vizier Aametshu held up a sheet of papyrus. “Because Kemet is at risk, and our boy–king is hardly capable of saving it!”
I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach at the scathing way he’d mentioned Thut.
“Explain yourself, Vizier,” Chancellor Neshi insisted.
“Majesty,” Aametshu said, addressing Hatshepsut, “your father Aakheperkare – life, health, prosperity, the good god, justified – expanded the influence of Kemet all the way from Retenu to northern Setjet and beyond. But your husband, though far from a weakling, did not follow up on your father’s success. These past seven years, under your nephew’s rule, our influence in Retenu and Setjet has declined. The sons and grandsons of the foreign kings who surrendered to Aakheperkare no longer send us tribute as regularly and in the amount expected of them. They neither respect nor fear our child–king. In particular, the King of Mitanni has taken advantage of Menkheperre’s neglect.”
“How so?” Hatshepsut asked.
“He has extended his influence from Naharina, his land between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, all the way west to the Great Green, threatening our trade routes. Because of him, and the kings who now scoff at us, the royal treasury is running low.”
“How low?” Hatshepsut queried.
“We have resources adequate enough to meet our needs, for now,” interjected Thutmosis, head of the treasury. He shrugged his shoulders. “But if things continue as they have been…”
“We must teach the Nine Bows a lesson,” Chancellor Neshi said darkly.
Hatshepsut nodded. “I burn with desire to recreate the glories of the years when Nebhepetre – Mentuhotep – life, prosperity, health, justified – and his house ruled,” she said firmly. “It was a golden age. Kemet prospered under strong kings.”
“Would you have the Regent go to war, Chancellor?” Second Prophet Mahu asked. I sensed his skepticism.
“Indeed,” Hatshepsut said. “If I propose war against the wretches, who in the army will heed my words? I am only regent. Menkheperre is king, young as he is. An inescapable fact.”
“Thutmose may be in the army, but he does not lead the army, and does not have the authority to wage war, and does not command the hearts and minds of its soldiers,” Amenhotep said. “But that will change soon enough, Majesty. Thutmose is weak now, but that will not always be true.”
“He’ll be eighteen in less than two years,” noted Ahmose. “He’ll be old enough to rule without a regent. When that day comes, and he arrives in Waset accompanied by an armed host – and mark my words, that day will come soon enough – his mother Iset will see to it – when he arrives and insists on taking the throne for himself, where will that leave Kemet?” His gaze swept the other advisors. He answered his own question. “At the mercy of a child who has been trained to fight but doesn’t know the first thing about how the government works.”
“A boy with no taste for bureaucracy,” Amenhotep added.
“This is wrong!” I whispered to Nefer, unable to contain myself. “They’re going to push Thut aside. We have to do something!”
She nodded slightly, squeezed my hand. “My brother fully understands Kemet’s government,” Nefer interrupted, her voice low but firm.
Everyone turned towards her, surprise on their faces. They had forgotten she was here. Senenmut had specifically warned Nefer and I this morning that we had been summoned to the audience hall to listen today, not talk. But someone had to defend Thut, for all of Hatshepsut’s advisors were wrong about him. And I was glad Nefer had risen to his defense. I wasn’t the only one in this hall who absolutely loved and believed in him.
“Thut knows all the statutes and details of ruling, maybe even better than some of you,” Nefer insisted. “He just prefers an active life with the army to being cooped up in the audience hall of the per’aa.”
And he is forging that army into a hammer he can wield to build an empire, I thought. That’s what he’s devoting his life to. The very thing you’re accusing him of neglecting. And Hatshepsut won’t let him use the army anyway against the Nine Bows, not yet. But I couldn’t tell them that.
“You’re nothing but a slip of a girl. What do you know?” Ineni asked Nefer dismissively.
Ineni was one of Hatshepsut’s highly–favored officials, an aged architect who had served all of Kemet’s rulers since Amenhotep, the king who had named Hatshepsut’s father as his heir.
“Neferure knows more than you can imagine,” Senenmut said quietly.
I appreciated him sticking up for Nefer and, by association, Thut.
“Perhaps for a fifteen year–old,” scoffed Ineni.
“Who has been trained since birth to be king!” Senenmut snapped, his eyes flashing. “As every one of you well knows. I have taught her to that end.” His eyes narrowed. “Neferure may be young, but she is correct. Do not underestimate the king her half–brother.”
“We should consider my daughter’s words,” Hatshepsut said thoughtfully and a bit proudly. “No one knows him better.”
Except me.
“She’s only seen him for a few days in the last half decade,” Thutmosis pointed out. “Does she really know him anymore?”
“I’ve taken the boy–king’s measure,” s
niffed Chancellor Neshi. “I find him wanting. Frankly, Neferure is as qualified to rule as Thutmose is, and her blood is purer.” His eyes darted cunningly. “We need a different king.”
“You propose to steal the throne from my brother?” Nefer asked, horrified.
My heart was in my throat. If the men in this room did what they seemed about to do, replace Thut with Hatshepsut, it would surely spark a collision of cosmic proportions in the Two Lands that would cost either Thut or Nefer or both everything. Disaster loomed and I was a helpless bystander, powerless to stop it. I realized my fists were clenched. If they did push Thut aside, what would happen to him? Would they kill him? Sweat began trickling down my spine. I loved Thut. He loved me. We were going to marry. They were going to ruin everything.
“No,” Hatshepsut said firmly, addressing Nefer. “We will not seize Thutmose’s throne. But perhaps it is time to make me equal to him.”
That was somehow a relief. Both of them being king would surely be complicated, but Thut would at least be alive. He and Nefer could still marry and have a son, who would succeed both him and Hatshepsut. But then it hit me that if Hatshepsut was crowned, Nefer would immediately become heir to Hatshepsut’s share of the throne. What would that do to Nefer and Thut’s relationship? Would Nefer even need to marry him to be the mother of a king? She could take anyone in the land to husband and her child would eventually rule. Nefer and Thut would immediately become rivals. What would that do to me and my future? Would I have to choose between them, give up one for love of the other? How could I make such a choice? And what about Thut’s safety? If Thut was eliminated before he had an heir to serve as a rival to Nefer’s son… That would simplify everything for Hatshepsut. The kingdom would not have to be divided. It was clear to me that what Hatshepsut and her advisors were plotting most certainly put Thut’s life at risk. All at once I recalled the conversation when Hatshepsut announced to Nefer her selection as regent, all the times Senenmut had told Nefer that Hatshepsut desired her to be educated as a king. I was suddenly suspicious – had what was about to happen been Hatshepsut’s plan since the day Thut took the throne? Had she merely been biding her time, waiting for the opportunity to seize the kingship? Was today the culmination of a plot that had started the day Nefer’s father died? How convenient, I thought, that the gods had sent Hatshepsut a dream to justify her actions. I wondered if they really had.
“Two kings?” Nefer asked sharply. “Would the people tolerate it?”
“Who are you to ask such a question?” Thutmosis queried.
“One who has been trained to be king,” Senenmut answered testily.
“I’d be concerned if she didn’t,” Hatshepsut said. “I think Nefer’s questions demonstrate that Senenmut has prepared her well.”
Senenmut inclined his head towards Hatshepsut. He smiled at her compliment.
“To answer your question, then,” Aametshu said, addressing Nefer, “the people only care that we keep them free from famine. To them, one king is as good as another.” He turned to Hatshepsut. “But if you are to truly rule as a second king, Majesty, you must have the approval and support of three key groups – the army, the civil service, and the priests.”
“You have my support,” Ineni said, taking a step towards the dais. “Majesty, you have praised and loved me. You have recognized my worth at court, you have presented me with gifts, you have magnified me, you have filled my house with silver and gold, with all the beautiful stuffs of the royal house. I have increased beyond everything I ever imagined.” He swept his hand in an arc around the room. “That is true for all of us gathered here.”
Many heads nodded.
And that, I thought, realization dawning, was what this conspiracy to make Hatshepsut a king was really about. Hatshepsut had given these men wealth and power and position. When Thut sat the throne alone he’d replace them with advisors of his own, no doubt selected for him by Iset, Hatshepsut’s arch–rival. This coup wasn’t about what was best for Kemet – it was what was best for each of them.
“You have the support of those of us in the royal domain, who oversee the per’aa,” Chancellor Neshi said. “Myself, the chamberlain, most of the bureaucrats, the chief steward. All of us who worked for your father, and then your husband.”
Amenhotep nodded in agreement.
“My grandfather Imhotep served as vizier for your father, Aakheperkare,” Hapuseneb said. “Our families have always been close, especially now, when I am Opener of the Gate of Heaven and you are God’s Wife of Amun. You have my support. I will see to it that you have the support of the Amun priesthood, and the high priests and second and third and fourth prophets of the other gods.”
Mahu nodded his head.
Hapuseneb’s eyes swept the other advisors. “Apologies to the rest of you, but the right to rule Kemet is dependent on the support of Amun above all else.”
“And for that support I will increase the royal endowment to Amun’s temples,” Hatshepsut vowed.
Hapuseneb bowed appreciatively.
“You can count on the support of the civil administration,” Vizier Aametshu said. “The overseer of the granaries, the overseer of cattle, the bureaucracy and judiciary and police, the village chiefs and mayors and councils. My friend, Treasurer Thutmosis, standing here with me, will support this move as well.”
“The deputy who oversees what little remains of our foreign territories in the North will support anyone who protects him,” predicted Chancellor Neshi. “I expect Seni, viceroy in the South, will also fall in line.”
“The king’s mother, Iset, will fight this move,” warned Thutmosis. “She has built a power base in Mennefer for herself and her son.”
Iset’s hatred for Hatshepsut would surely be magnified after today, I thought grimly. And I couldn’t really blame her.
“I think Iset will be surprised to learn that some of the officials in the North that she considers dependent on her are not,” Hatshepsut said, and smiled. “She has her spies here in Waset, no doubt. But her reach is far less robust than mine.”
“Our only concern, then, is how the army will react if we proceed,” Ahmose said. “The army’s generals and commanders have no love for Your Majesty. They would never support removing the king and replacing him with you. But I doubt they’ll oppose a dual kingship. They too recognize Menkheperre’s limitations. Besides, what soldier of any rank wants to be ordered about by a mere boy?”
A soldier who has seen that “boy” work hard and endlessly to become worthy of leading an army, I thought loyally. Everyone in this room was underestimating Thut. He was not in the North playing at being a soldier. He’d spent years making himself into one, earning the trust and respect of his men, focused on his quest to make Kemet great. What would he do with his army when he learned what Hatshepsut was doing this day?
“How about you, Senenmut,” Hatshepsut asked. “You’re my closest advisor. Your advice carries weight above all others. Where do you stand.”
His eyes met hers. I recognized in them, for the first time, utter devotion – and more. That pinch–nosed, jowly, lined face, so different from her perfect beauty, seemed almost transformed as he gazed at her. How had I missed that before? Senenmut loved Hatshepsut. Did she love him? Did that explain how he had come to do so much for her, to be awarded so many titles? I wondered if my face changed as his did when I looked at Thut. I wondered if I’d realized what Senenmut felt because I too was in love.
“Majesty, you have entrusted your daughter to me to raise and educate. You have made me prophet of Montu and Amun, chief steward of God’s Wife of Amun, overseer of the god’s storehouses and orchards and other property, overseer of your works, steward of your estates. You put me in charge of quarrying the two obelisks from the cataract to place in Ipet–Isut. You have allowed me to dedicate three votive statues at Ipet–Isut and create a shrine at Gebel el–Silsila. Thanks to you, I am the greatest of the great in the whole land. I am the guardian of your secrets, a privy–councilor o
n your right hand, secure in favor and given audience alone, a lover of truth who shows no partiality, one to whom judges listen and whose very silence is eloquent. I am one upon whose utterance his Lord relied, with whose advice you, the Mistress of the Two Lands, are satisfied, and whose heart is completely filled. I am a noble to whom one hearkens, for I repeat your words to your companions. My steps are known in the per’aa as your real confidant, entering in love and coming forth in favor, making glad your heart every day. I am useful to you, faithful to the god, and without blemish before the people. I am one to whom the affairs of the Two Lands are confided. That which the South and North contribute is under my charge. I have access to all the writings of the prophets – there is nothing from the beginning of time I do not know. I wear your royal seal. You have done everything for me. There is nothing I would not do for you in return. If you choose to accept the kingship Amun has thrust upon you, you have my full support.”
Hatshepsut sat back in her throne, satisfied.
My heart sank. The most important officials in the whole land had just abandoned Thut. Not a single one of them – each supposedly beholden to him – had raised a voice in objection to this move to take his throne away. I hated what was happening. Challenging Thut without the gods’ approval would have been an affront to maat, and the men in this room could not have done it. But after learning of Hatshepsut’s dream, they could claim that their power grab preserved maat. I hated myself for thinking it, but I couldn’t help wondering again – had Hatshepsut made her dream up? I didn’t want to believe she’d sink so low to get what she clearly craved, the kingship. But maybe I was wrong. Maybe the gods really had sent her the dream. Maybe they really did want her to rule. If that was true, not putting her on the throne was against the gods’ will. My head was suddenly spinning. How was I to know what was true and what wasn’t? I loved Hatshepsut and Ahmose and Senenmut. They were all good people. They had been kind and generous to me my whole life. And if they were so good and fine, why would they do something so awful? Was there something about this that I just didn’t understand? Were my conclusions wrong? I was just a girl, after all. I wished Thut were here, that he could at least have a chance to speak in his own defense, to try to stop them, to persuade them to leave things as they were. But he wasn’t, and so his fate was out of his hands. As was Nefer’s, and mine.
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