Lady of the Two Lands

by Elizabeth Delisi

  He continued up the ramp to the court on the second level, Hattie close behind. There, a pair of colossal sphinxes was being carved out of red granite. “When the sculptors are finished, the sphinxes will be painted, as will those on the avenue,” he said.

  “They are magnificent,” Hattie exclaimed, shading her eyes to look up to the top of the nearest one. She turned around in a circle. “And what is going on over there?” She pointed.

  “The artisans are creating a series of reliefs illustrating Your Majesty’s divine birth,” Senemut said. “Would you like to examine their work?”

  “Aye, I would!” She followed him to the nearest relief.

  As soon as the workmen noticed Hattie, they fell to their knees, foreheads touching the dusty ground.

  “Please rise,” she urged. “I have come to see the splendid work you are doing.” She walked over to a colorful, nearly completed relief of a pregnant woman in the company of two goddesses. “This is lovely! What does it represent?”

  After a moment, a workman rose and approached her reluctantly, his gaze directed squarely at his feet. “Majesty, it is…it shows your royal mother, Queen Ahmose, being led into the birthing chamber by two goddesses who are there to witness your sacred birth.”

  Hattie asked, “And can you tell me how it is done? I am something of an artist myself, so I would like to know. The craftsmanship is exquisite.”

  The workman darted a glance up at her. She smiled encouragingly.

  “First, Majesty, we chisel and smooth the rock walls,” he said, pointing to another area of the temple where the walls were still rough and jagged. “Then, the wall must be coated with a thick layer of white plaster.”

  “I see,” Hattie murmured. “What comes next?”

  “An artist draws the subject onto the white plaster, Royal One. When he has finished, a master artist corrects and adds details to the drawing.” He glanced up at her again and continued in a stronger voice, warming to his subject under her interested gaze. “Next, the sculptor chisels out the image, giving it depth and a lifelike effect. And finally, a master painter adds the colors and finishing touches.”

  “So it is a group effort, is it not?” Hattie asked.

  The workman beamed. “Aye, Your Majesty, it is. We are honored to work on pharaoh’s house of eternity, and we shall do our best to make it reflect your glory.”

  “You are doing a wonderful job,” she said. “Please, do not let me interrupt your work any further. Thank you for educating me.”

  Blushing, the workman retreated, bowing low as he went.

  Hattie turned to Senemut. “It is very striking! I had no idea it would be so…so overwhelming in scope and design. You are truly a talented architect, Senemut.”

  Senemut smiled. “It is my great honor and privilege to create a temple that befits Your Majesty in every way. As I said, it will take many seasons to complete.” He looked around and dropped his voice. “Once you are crowned pharaoh on New Year’s Day, you must begin your reign with a suitably impressive deed. Then the workmen can record it on the walls of your temple.”

  Hattie’s stomach lurched and her smile faded. “Aye, I suppose you are right, though I know not what the impressive deed shall be.” For a few minutes, she had forgotten the reason this temple was under construction—and it had been the most carefree time she’d had in a long while. But now, the burden of assuming the crown settled onto her again.

  Senemut had done his work well over the past year. He’d had inscriptions carved, arranged for Hattie to make temple dedications and have her royal father’s monuments restored, and lined up support of vassal states—with Nubia the first to fall in line, thanks to Hattie’s fair treatment of them after their uprising. He’d spoken the correct words in the proper ears, and won over much of the priesthood and the army. Hattie was amazed at both his ingenuity and his tenacity. He’d refused to give up until he had garnered support for Hatshepsut’s crowning from nearly every high official in the land.

  Hapuseneb, the high priest of Amun, had selected New Year’s Day as her coronation day. Unlike Hattie’s images of New Year’s Eve at Times Square, the Egyptian New Year began in late June, when the star they called Sopdet rose just above the horizon at dawn during the time of the annual flooding of the Nile.

  At first, Hattie chafed under the delay until the next New Year’s celebration. If she were forced to do the thing at all, she would prefer to get it over with quickly. But Senemut assured her it was both an auspicious and a practical choice, which allowed her regnal years and the civil calendar to coincide. “It is well,” he had commented, “to begin your new life as pharaoh on the first day of a new year, when the Nile overflows and brings us her bounty. The gods will bless your reign.”

  Hattie wasn’t so sure, but she didn’t appear to have any choice in the matter. Once she’d suggested her accession to the throne would eliminate the threat against Tuthmosis, the decisions were removed from her hands. All she had to do was smile, follow Senemut’s suggestions, and await the inexorable progression.

  Suddenly, Hattie was no longer interested in watching the work progress on her temple. “I have a headache, Senemut,” she whispered. “Please, take me home.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Nesi came to prepare Hattie on the day of her coronation. Hattie was already awake, and had been tossing and turning since before dawn. “Come, Majesty. I have prepared your bath.”

  Hattie groaned. She had been dreading this day, and she wanted nothing more than to pull the sheet over her head and refuse to come out of her room until it was over. But time moved inescapably forward, and there was nothing she could do to stop its flow. Sighing, she arose and allowed Nesi to lead her into the bath chamber.

  Before long, Nesi had worked her magic again. Hattie was dressed in a gossamer gown, gold and jewels around her neck and upper arms, and heavy rings on her fingers. Anointed with exotic perfumes, her hair dressed and face painted, she looked every inch the eighteenth dynasty Egyptian queen, and nothing like Hattie Williams from Chicago.

  Hattie gulped and turned away from her reflection in the polished bronze mirror. What if she never returned to her own time? What if she were marooned here for the rest of her life? She had not been able to find the necklace, and had nearly given up looking for it. She’d spent hours poring over scrolls of magic incantations and charms, and had consulted—without revealing her true objective—priests and sorcerers, but to no avail. Her duties as Regent were now second nature to her, and she had adapted to the hardships of life in this era almost completely. Each day she became fonder and fonder of little Neferure, and even proud Prince Tuthmosis had wormed his way into her heart. And, though she was loath to admit it, each day she fell more deeply in love with Senemut. Would it be so bad, then, if she were to remain here?

  I have to find a way to return home, she told herself with an impatient shake of her head. She firmly ignored the little voice in her heart that asked, Why?

  Perhaps it was a mistake to continue to keep the truth from Senemut. His advice had always been sound, so might he not be able to advise her in this matter as well? Certainly, he knew more of the “magic” of the era—curses, magic spells and potions, amulets, love philters. Perhaps he knew of another way than the necklace to return her to her own time. Would he not want his own Hatshepsut back? Which Hatshepsut was he in love with?

  The curtain to her bedchamber flew aside and Senemut strode into the room. Hattie’s mouth dropped open as she stared at him. He was garbed in a finely pleated, white linen kilt with a wide gold sash, and woven leather sandals with curling tips. A broad gold collar surrounded his neck, and he wore wide gold armbands on his muscular upper arms. His eyes were accented by black kohl, and he wore an elaborately braided wig. The overall effect was exotic, alien, yet strangely compelling. He took her breath away.

  She closed her mouth and shook herself. “Senemut, I have something to tell you—”

  He crossed the room to her in three steps. “The
re is no time, Majesty. The ceremony is about to begin.” He took her arm.

  “But…” Hattie’s heart lurched sickeningly, and her blood suddenly felt like ice coursing through her veins. “But I…”

  “Later, Majesty. Amun—and Egypt—await you.” He pulled her to the door.

  Hattie breathed in short gasps, panic squeezing the air out of her lungs. She tried to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other as Senemut led her out of the palace and to her chariot, waiting to take her to the temple. She’d never believed this day would actually come, so sure had she been that she’d return to her own time. What had she gotten herself into?

  * * *

  “She must have the gods on her side,” Hapuseneb muttered, jerking his priestly robes straight. “How else could she have raised enough support to see her—a woman—crowned pharaoh? I confess, I did not dream this day would come.” He peered out again at the growing crowds surrounding the temple, and shook his head irritably.

  “Pah! She has no gods to aid her,” Snefru retorted. “She has Senemut. By Amun, he is far cleverer than I gave him credit for, especially when given free rein and an open purse. But never fear…I shall not underestimate him again.”

  “Aye. Senemut,” the priest concurred. “He is like a thorn in our sides, always a step or two ahead of me. If only he would fall from her favor!” Or if only he could be made to fall from her favor, he silently added. But how? He is wily and he neatly sidesteps every trap I set for him, from concubines to poison to assassins.

  “He will fall—in one fashion or another.” Snefru smiled mirthlessly. “And once he is out of the way, our new ‘pharaoh’ will meet with an untimely accident, and be gathered to the gods. Such a pity…so young and so pretty. Tuthmosis will succeed her, but, of course, he is just a boy and must rely on his advisors.”

  “Aye—his High Priest of Amun, and his Great Army General.” Hapuseneb grimaced. “I pray Amun it happens soon, else I might grow too impatient and make a mistake. We must be very careful now. We must not give ourselves away.”

  Snefru nodded. “You are wise, as always. So, go now and crown your new pharaoh. Give the ceremony all the pomp and gravity it deserves. Do nothing to draw unwanted attention to yourself! Do not fear—her reign will be brief.”

  * * *

  The route to the temple of Amun in the sprawling Karnak temple complex was lined with cheering, shouting hordes. They jostled each other for a better view, hung from limbs of trees, and leaned precariously from rooftops of mud-brick houses and shops. Food vendors pushed through the crowd, hawking figs, dried fish, honey cakes, and beer. Parents balanced their children on their shoulders and pointed to Hattie as she passed. It wasn’t every day the common folk were privileged to steal a glimpse of royalty.

  Hattie was grateful for Senemut’s advice that royalty did not smile, nor did they wave and gesture; they simply looked…regal. She knew she couldn’t have held a smile in place on her frozen face, nor could she wave while clutching the side of the small gold and gem-encrusted chariot hard enough to leave impressions. The driver struggled mightily to control the two midnight-black horses that snorted, reared, and shied away from the jostling crowds, while Hattie feared the tiny chariot would overturn at any moment. She had no idea if the chariots of the royalty and nobles behind her in the procession were still following, or if they’d been delayed or upset by the crush of onlookers. She felt her wits had deserted her, and she prayed fiercely that she’d remember all of Senemut’s instructions when the ceremony began.

  At last, her chariot drew up in front of the temple of Amun in an impressive cloud of dust. There, Hapuseneb, the high priest of Amun, waited for her, along with scores of lesser priests. She sensed their dark, impassive gazes as she stepped down from the chariot and she felt suddenly, fiercely alone. Holding her head high and trying to remember to breathe instead of choking on the dust, she allowed Hapuseneb to lead her into the temple.

  Senemut had told her that the first part of the coronation ceremony was the ritual purification. The strong, heady scent of incense tickled her nostrils as she entered the temple. Four priests, dressed and elaborately masked to represent the four gods Horus, Amun, Re, and Ptah, sprinkled her with water as they chanted blessings for her and her reign.

  “Long live Horus, whose words are wise; whose counsels are astute; who brings the Two Lands into being. King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Lord of the Two Lands, Maatkare whom Re has chosen. Son of Re, Lord of Crowns, Hatshepsut beloved of Amun, beloved of Horus, may he have life eternal.”

  A droplet of cold water struck her in the face and she gasped. At once, she was reminded of the more familiar baptisms in her own time, complete with babies garbed in white, proud parents, and crowds of relatives. Her breath came a little easier. She felt more at ease and suppressed a smile.

  “You must now take possession of your kingdom, Majesty,” Hapuseneb muttered, snapping her out of her reverie.

  Fortunately, Senemut had briefed Hattie on every aspect of the coronation, and she knew what she was to do next. She stalked out of the temple as majestically as she could, followed by Hapuseneb and the other priests. Gripping the crook and the flail, symbols of her royalty, she strode around the outer walls of the temple, pausing at each corner for prayers to be said, trying to project an aura of command and confidence. The crowd watched in absolute silence and stillness, as if they had become paintings on a tomb wall. The only sound was the whisper of her sandals in the dust. Then, a collective sigh of relief rippled through the group as she rounded the last corner and the last prayer was chanted.

  “Scribe!” Hapuseneb motioned to a wizened old man lurking in the background, who hastened to his side with a papyrus roll, inkpot and pen. Hapuseneb gestured to him and he seated himself cross-legged at the priest’s feet, and immediately set to work writing on the papyrus.

  After a moment, he dusted the papyrus sheet with sand and offered it to Hapuseneb, who glanced at it and then held it up to the crowd. “The name of His Majesty, Hatshepsut, has been entered in the leaves of the sacred isd-tree. May his reign be long and fruitful!”

  Excited whispers arose from the crowd. Hattie turned and accompanied Hapuseneb back into the temple, scores of glittering nobles and imposing officers descending from their chariots and following close on their heels. She caught a quick glimpse of Senemut in the crowd behind her. He grinned, and her heart leapt.

  Hapuseneb led Hattie to a massive golden image of Amun, supported on a pallet by four burly, sweating priests. Hattie knelt before the image and lowered her head, as Senemut had instructed her, while Hapuseneb chanted a blessing. “Behold, Amun has come, and he has established the crown on the head of his worthy son, Hatshepsut, the protector of Egypt.”

  Hattie arose and led the image and the crowd into the innermost chamber of the temple—the most holy place, seen only by high priests, royalty and nobles. The room was dark and close with smoke from the flickering torches; sparks of light glinted and flashed from golden images of the gods. The scent of incense was heavy and cloying.

  She knelt again. Hapuseneb lifted from the altar the unwieldy double crown of Upper and Lower Egypt and placed it on her head. The White Crown of Upper Egypt resembled a tall, bulbous bowling pin, and was surrounded by the chair-shaped Red Crown of Lower Egypt. Together, they represented her dominion over all of Egypt. A golden cobra with spread hood, representing pharaoh’s protection by the gods, reared out from the crown over her brow. Hattie clenched her teeth and tightened her neck muscles to keep her head erect as she rose, bearing the weight of the tall, cold crown. If it fell from her head at her coronation, her reign would begin under a cloud of superstition from which it might never recover.

  At last, she turned and faced the assembled group. A mighty shout of joy arose from nobles and priests alike. Hattie passed through their ranks, led the group out of the temple and paused, facing the buzzing crowd of peasants, servants and slaves.

  Hapuseneb raised his hands and the peop
le fell silent. “Behold—Amun has spoken. He has established the crown of Egypt on the head of His Majesty, Powerful of Kas, flourishing of years, divine of diadems, Maatkare, Khenmet-Amun Hatshepsut!”

  As one, the crowd fell to its knees, hands outspread, foreheads in the dust.

  Hattie Williams was now Hatshepsut, Pharaoh, and sole ruler of all Egypt.

  CHAPTER 18

  Hattie’s head ached fiercely, and she thought she would die if she had to listen to another interminable toast praising her royal, sacred self. Smoke, perfume, incense, and food odors assaulted her in waves. Great Amun, she was pharaoh, yet she couldn’t even send for an aspirin.

  Shifting irritably on her chair, she looked around the low-ceilinged, torchlit room. Nobles and priests seated on cushions or leaning against elaborately carved pillars talked quietly, but not to her. The servants standing behind them respectfully averted their gaze when she glanced their way. Harps whispered, tambourine-like sistrums jangled, flutes wailed and castanets clacked, adding to the tumult in her brain. Bejeweled dancing girls circled and gyrated in a dizzying swirl of colors in the center of the room, while acrobats leapt over each other and twisted themselves into human knots. Dish after endless dish was placed on the low table in front of Hattie and Tuthmosis: roasted fish, duck and quail, stewed figs, cheese, bread, lentils, fresh berries, and honey cakes. Goblets of wine and beer flowed like the Nile.

  At least she was not required to wear the burdensome double crown, praise Amun; only a golden circlet with a uraeus of a rearing cobra adorned her pounding forehead. Blast this century, and the lack of painkillers! She wondered for the hundredth time how long a royal coronation banquet was supposed to last, and when she could safely seek the oblivion of her bedchamber.

  Tuthmosis had glared at her from his seat next to her on the dais for the first two hours of the banquet, anger vying with tears for expression. Hattie knew he was unhappy she’d been named pharaoh, seemingly having stolen his crown from him, but she dared not explain why. He was only a child, and shouldn’t have to bear the heavy burden of fearing for his life. Hattie tried to make small talk with him instead, but he stubbornly refused to open his mouth except to insert food. Eventually, tired of his glumness, she suggested he retire for the evening. He rose, turned his back and hurried out of the room without so much as a “good night”.