by David Wood
“Sort of.” She hesitated, pretending to focus on the road, which made a sweeping curve to head southward again. There was no sign of the river now. “It will all make sense when we get where we’re going.”
Maddock glanced over his shoulder at Bones. His friend gave a helpless shrug and then leaned back as if to enjoy the scenery and began whistling softly. It took Maddock a few seconds to recognize the tune.
Walk Like an Egyptian. Great. Now I’m gonna have that stuck in my head, he thought. He sighed and faced forward again. What have we gotten ourselves mixed up in?
They rode along in silence for a while. Though they had only gone a few miles they had clearly left the urban city center behind. The scenery to either side was now verdant with well-watered fields and groves of palm and citrus trees. The road brought them back to the river, their view now mostly unobstructed as they traveled parallel to its course. Maddock could see several vessels moving in the water—everything from river cruise ships to small lateen-rigged sailboats called feluccas. Not too far off, and getting closer with each passing second, a flat girder bridge stretched across the water, providing access to the far shore.
As if sensing an unasked question, Nora broke her silence. “That’s where we’re going,” she said, nodding toward the bridge. “Or across it, rather. To the West Bank.”
“To the Valley of the Kings,” Maddock supplied, trying to keep the conversation going.
“Eventually, but first we need to make a stop at Deir el-Bahari.”
Maddock recalled hearing the name earlier, mentioned by one of the would-be salesman on the train platform, but drew a blank on its significance. “What’s that?”
“Forgive me. I forgot that you are not archaeologists.”
Maddock couldn’t tell if the comment was a thinly-veiled insult or a sincere apology. He decided to believe it was the latter.
“Deir el-Bahari,” Nora went on, “is a major mortuary temple complex on the west bank. Very popular with tourists.”
That definitely felt like a dig. “We’re not here for sightseeing, Dr. Majdy,” he said, injecting a little acid into his tone.
“Speak for yourself,” Bones interjected. “I wouldn’t mind seeing this Derriere el Baja place.”
Nora laughed again, though now it seemed a little forced. “Deir el-Bahari,” she corrected. “And don’t worry. We won’t be sightseeing.”
The road looped away from the bridge before coming around to meet it. Like the railway station, the divided four-lane bridge was adorned in a faux-Egyptian motif, with a pair of obelisks fronted by large falcon statues, positioned at the gateway. “This bridge was only built about twenty years ago. Before that, the only way to cross was by ferry. Most people still use the ferries, but I like the freedom of having my own car. And it’s not that far out of the way.”
As they started across it, Maddock was strangely aware of the river below. While he bridled at the thought of being splashed with the “tourist” label, the truth was, he enjoyed traveling to places of historical significance and natural beauty, and the Nile River was certainly both. It was virtually tied with the Amazon for the title of longest river on earth, but unlike the South American river, which flowed through largely untamed jungle, inhabited by tribes of hunter-gatherers, the Nile was inextricably linked to the rise of human civilization. Its flood seasons had brought life to the blistering Egyptian desert for countless millennia. The quest to find its source had inspired some of history’s greatest explorers—Livingstone, Stanley, Burton. It was, and perhaps always had been, a symbol of exotic destinations, romance and adventure. Looking at the Nile never failed to spark his imagination and his sense of adventure.
After making the crossing—which took all of about a minute—Nora continued along the highway, heading in a northwesterly direction, almost perpendicular to the river. To either side lay acres of well-watered sugar cane, along with a few signs of human occupation—a mosque, a gas station, stores and houses—but in the distance, rising above the verdant landscape like a cresting wave, was a ridge of bleak sandstone. After about two miles of this, they passed over water again—a pair of irrigation canals—and then turned right at a T-junction, continuing along a tree-lined highway that ran parallel to the canals. The road continued for several miles through the agricultural area before eventually bringing them to a more densely populated area. Here and there, Maddock caught glimpses of the river, and beyond it, the East Bank and Luxor proper. His internal compass told him they had come nearly full-circle; a fifteen-mile detour to bring them back to a point only about a mile or so from where the journey had begun. After another half-mile, Nora took a left turn, heading once more toward the looming desert hills to the west. Signs, printed in both English and Arabic, indicated that they were on the road to Deir el-Bahari and other sites of interest, but even without the signs, Maddock would have guessed that they were close from the increased volume of tour buses and taxis.
“Look there,” Nora said, pointing across the dashboard to a pair of objects rising in the foreground. Maddock had already noticed the strange protrusions, which looked like free standing pillars of natural stone, but as they drew closer, he could see that they were in fact carved statues, rising at least fifty feet above ground level. “They are called the Colossi of Memnon,” she said. “Though the statues are actually depictions of Amenhotep III.”
“How can you tell?” asked Bones. His question was understandable. Time and weather had blunted the images to the point where they were barely recognizable as seated human figures.
“Though you can’t see them from here, there are hieroglyphic inscriptions linking the statues to the reign of Amenhotep which lasted until about 1351 BCE. He was Tutankhamun’s grandfather. You can see that the figures are wearing the nemes headdress. Only the king would be so depicted.”
Maddock squinted up at the statue as they passed, and could definitely distinguish the shape of the traditional Egyptian headgear that looked sort of like a do-rag with flaps hanging down over the shoulders on both sides.
“These statues guarded the entrance to Amenhotep’s mortuary temple,” she went on. “It was one of the largest ever built. Now, they are all that remain of it.”
She glanced over at Maddock with a faintly guilty expression. “Sorry. I know you’re not here to play tourist, but talking about this stuff is what I do for a living.”
“No apology required,” Maddock replied. “It’s interesting and it helps to be able to put this stuff into context.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “According to folklore, the northern statue was damaged in an earthquake in the year 27 BCE. The quake opened a large crack in the stone, and when the wind blew across it, it produced a distinctive sound which the Greek geographers associated with the cry of the dawn goddess Eos, mother of the Ethiopian king Memnon—if, that is, you consider the Iliad to be a reliable historical source. They called the statue the Colossus of Memnon, even though it has nothing to do with him, and the name stuck.”
“So basically,” Bones interjected, “What you’re saying is that the statue broke wind from its crack.”
Nora pursed her lips together, struggling to suppress an involuntary laugh.
“Maybe I’m the one who should apologize,” Maddock said. “For bringing him along.”
“Hey, she’s the one who said it.”
“I said it was folklore,” Nora countered, still fighting to maintain her composure. “Nobody knows for certain if the story is true. Sometime during the Second Century, someone—possibly the Roman Emperor Septimus Severus—restored the statue, repairing the earthquake damage. After that, it never ...” She broke off, unable to hold back her laughter any longer.
“It never farted again?” Bones supplied.
Shoulders quaking, unshed tears of mirth dancing in her eyes, Nora nodded.
Maddock sighed. “Don’t encourage him.”
The statues seemed to mark the western limit of the fertile Nile valley. Beyond them, th
e green fields gave way to bleached desert. The road veered to the right, straddling the border between the two extremes. Here and there, Maddock could see what looked like stone blocks jutting up from the baked earth like broken teeth. Despite the austerity of the landscape, there were signs of human habitation here as well—mostly cafes and gift shops, painted with garish reproductions of Egyptian art.
At the next intersection, Nora made a hard left turn and the Peugeot began a gradual ascent up into the desert foothills, which ended at a large parking lot, half-filled with buses and taxis. Nora slotted the Peugeot into an empty space and switched it off, but before opening her door to exit, she stripped off her hijab, revealing shoulder length black hair.
“That’s enough of that,” she said, tossing her mane back with a shake of her head. She wore a bright red soccer jersey and black denim jeans. Her bare arms were toned and tan. It occurred to Maddock that none of this had been concealed while she wore the head scarf, but he had not really bothered to look past it.
She noticed his appraising glance and, perhaps mistaking his intent, said, “Don’t worry. Out here, I’ll blend in a lot better without this.” She threw the black scarf onto the center console, then opened her door and got out.
Maddock and Bones got out as well, taking their bags with them. Noticing this, Nora gestured to the rear of the sedan. “You can stow that in the boot if you like.”
Bones shook his head. “After what happened back at the train station, there’s no way I’m letting this stuff out of my sight.”
Nora accepted this without argument, and gestured for them to follow. As they moved across the parking area, Maddock understood Nora’s comment about blending in. Aside from a handful of tour guides and gift kiosk operators, there were hardly any Egyptians, and all were male. Everyone else was either Asian or Caucasian, and everyone wore casual Western attire. The only head coverings in evidence were ordinary hats—ball caps, broad-brimmed sun hats, and even a couple felt fedoras. Had she worn the traditional Muslim head covering, Nora would have immediately attracted unwanted attention, even here in her native country, but without it, even despite her swarthy skin tone and distinctive features, she looked like just another tourist.
At the edge of the parking area, Maddock finally beheld the reason for all the activity. Nestled against the base of the high sandstone bluff was a broad multi-tiered structure that looked to be at least as long as a football field. Each tier was fronted by perfectly spaced columns. A long ramp took them from ground level to a courtyard on the second tier, and halfway across it, another ramp ascended to the third, letting out onto a broad colonnaded balcony overlooking the complex. The interior of the third level was evidently off limits, the space between the pillars blocked with a wire fence, but there was still plenty to see without going in. Maddock immediately noted a detail that hadn’t been visible from a distance. Statues had once stood guard in front of the tall columns supporting the roof. A few still remained. The standing figures, which were nearly twice his own height, looked virtually identical. They reminded Maddock of pictures he had seen of King Tut’s coffin, with the same kind of exaggerated beards, arms crossed over the chest in the traditional funerary pose and holding the crook and flail—traditional symbols of ruling power—but there were differences, too. Instead of the flap-like head covering—the nemes, Nora had called it—these figures wore a tall crown that looked almost like a bowling pin. The face was broader, the cheeks plump, almost feminine, something Bones did not fail to notice. As they stepped off onto the broad porch in front of the colonnade, he gestured to the nearest statue.
“Dude looks like a lady.”
“Dude is a lady,” Nora replied. “Or was. This is the mortuary temple of Hatshepsut, one of the greatest rulers in Egyptian history. And yes, she was a she.”
“What was that name again?” Bones said.
“Hatshepsut.”
“One more time.”
Maddock could see the wheels turning in his friend’s head, and took preemptive action. “Bones, knock it off.” He turned to Nora. “So what’s her story?”
“Hatshepsut was the daughter of Thutmose I and his queen Ahmose. The previous ruler, Amenhotep—”
“The farting guy?” Bones asked.
“No, that was Amenhotep III. He came later. Amenhotep I died without a male heir, so a lesser prince—Thutmose I—took the throne by marrying Amenhotep’s daughter, Ahmose. Bloodlines were very important to the Egyptians, partly as a legal basis for transfer of power, but mostly because the king was supposed to be a living god, and his children—male or female—would have divine blood. Thutmose had a son by one of his other wives, but because Hatshepsut had the stronger blood claim, she and her half-brother, Thutmose II, were married. Most scholars believe she was probably the power behind the throne during his reign, which might have only lasted three or four years, depending on who you ask. Thutmose II died when Thutmose III—his only son by another of his wives—was only two years old, so while he was technically the heir, she had a stronger claim to the throne, and since she was probably already the de facto ruler, she took the added step of declaring herself the actual ruler.”
“I take it that was unusual,” said Maddock. “A female actually taking the title of pharaoh?”
“Strictly speaking, the term ‘pharaoh’ wasn’t used to refer to the king until around 1200 BCE. We just sort of retroactively apply it to all the rulers before that. But the symbols in surviving inscriptions, as well as the presence of crowns and the royal beard in the statuary, indicate that she was not merely filling in but considered herself the actual king of Egypt.
“She wasn’t the first female ruler, but she was certainly the first to make an impression on history. One Egyptologist called her ‘the first great woman in history of whom we are informed.’ And it wasn’t just because she was a woman in a man’s job. She was one of the most successful rulers in Egyptian history, and certainly the most successful of the Eighteenth Dynasty.”
She pronounced the word in typical British fashion, with a soft ‘y’ and the first syllable break after the ‘n.’ Maddock couldn’t resist making a comment, stressing the American pronunciation. “I’ve never actually understood all these references to dynasties.”
“Dynasties,” she corrected, flashing him a wry grin. “Well, I’ll try to give you the short version, but you have to remember that what we call the Ancient Egyptian civilization lasted nearly three thousand years. As my first history professor was fond of saying, that’s a bloody long time. They had their ups and downs, like anyone would, but generally speaking there are three distinct periods—we call them Kingdoms. The Old Kingdom, from about 2686 BCE to 2181 BCE, was ruled from Memphis, near modern day Cairo.”
“This is all screwed up,” Bones said, but with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “First Luxor isn’t in Vegas anymore, and now you tell me Memphis isn’t in Tennessee?”
“Where do you think they got the idea for that? What better name for the jewel of the American Nile.”
“I guess that means Elvis wasn’t just the King. He was Pharaoh, too.”
“That’s a bit too far outside my field. At any rate, the Old Kingdom was the age of the pyramid builders and comprised the Third through the Sixth Dynasties—that is to say, distinct royal lines. The Old Kingdom collapsed during a century long global drought event, which actually wiped out several early human civilizations in Europe and Asia. We don’t really know much about that intermediate period which isn’t really surprising since monumental building projects weren’t exactly a high priority, what with everyone starving. But eventually things turned around during the reign of Mentuhotep II of the Eleventh Dynasty. He reunified Upper and Lower Egypt, and that began the period we call the Middle Kingdom, which lasted almost four hundred years, until about 1650 BCE, and comprised the Eleventh through Thirteenth Dynasties. Even though this was a more prosperous time, we have very little physical documentation from the Middle Kingdom, or from the other dynasti
es during the second intermediate period. But it was during this period that the power began to shift to Upper Egypt, and by the time of the New Kingdom, and the Eighteenth Dynasty, this—” She waved a hand in an expansive gesture. “Was the center of the world. And that was mainly due to Hatshepsut. She re-established trade routes to neighboring kingdoms, which greatly increased Egypt’s wealth, and commissioned hundreds of building projects, including this temple. As impressive as it is today, just imagine what it would have looked like in the time of Hatshepsut. We call it her mortuary temple, but I think its original name—Djeser-Djeseru, the Sublime of Sublimes—is far more evocative.”
“It’s a nice place,” Bones said with a shrug, “But it’s no pyramid.”
Nora rolled her eyes. “Pyramids are boring. I’d take this over a pyramid any day of the week.”
“Yeah, but they’re big.”
“Bigger isn’t always better,” she retorted.
Bones elbowed Maddock. “Hear that, dude? There’s hope for you after all.”
Maddock ignored the all-too familiar ribbing. “So why isn’t she more famous? I mean, aside from the fact that her name is kind of hard to remember. I’ve heard of other Egyptian queens. Nefertiti. Cleopatra. Why don’t more people know about Queen Hat?”
“King Hat,” Nora corrected. “There were lots of queens, but Hatshepsut ruled as if she was actually king. But to answer your question, part of the reason is political. At some point after her death, someone—either her son Thutmose III or his son, Amenhotep II—did his best to erase her completely from history. Her name was chiseled off royal cartouches. Many of her statues were torn down and thrown into landfills. Even here.”
She gestured to the next pillar in line, in front of which there was just the base of a statue and what appeared to be a pair of disconnected feet. Maddock realized that there were similar broken bases in front of most of the other pillars on the same level.
