Hatshepsut: Daughter of Amun

by Moyra Caldecott

  * * * *

  Over the next few days, Hatshepsut's favourite official, Senmut, her scribe, Thutiy, and the ambassadors she had sent with them, cautiously went about their business.

  One of the ambassadors, Pa-an, had been a merchant in his younger days, one of the few who had ventured as far afield as Punt. His boat had been damaged in a storm and he had stayed with these people for more than a year. By the time he left he had a fair understanding of their language. Senmut chose him as his interpreter, though there were many Nubians in the party who could have done the job as well.

  Thutiy had been sent to record everything that happened and he followed silently, scarcely uttering a word from one day to the next. Senmut often wondered what he was thinking. He was a young man, but greatly trusted by the Pharaoh. His father had been her father's chief scribe, and as a boy he had followed the old man about as he now followed Senmut. His training had been day and night at the old man's elbow since a very early age.

  At night or in the heat of the day when everyone else was resting, Thutiy would be sitting with crossed knees, his hand tirelessly working over a scroll with reed pens, watched intently by a crowd of inquisitive children. He spoke to them only once—and that was to tell them, in answer to their enquiries, that he was making magic. “These signs are magical spells,” he explained. “They change into strange and wonderful things when they enter through the eye of the beholder. They have wings, and those who have them in themselves can fly to the ends of the earth ... to the ends of all the worlds. In these little marks,” he said, “lie everything that was and is and shall be. They are strong and powerful magic.” The children's eyes opened wide and they took a step or two back from him.

  Senmut, who overheard this rare pronouncement from Thutiy, smiled and walked away. Scribes were indeed magicians. They could control everything that happened by influencing the minds of those who could read those little squiggles and scratches. He himself was master of scripts, and proud of it, but he was glad that his sole task was not to record the expedition. There were much more important things he wanted to do.

  When Senmut was not with the King and attending to the main business of the expedition, he sought out the shaman, taking the interpreter rather unwillingly along. Pa-an was terrified of the man and clutched his familiar amulets of Amun-Ra and Anubis nervously whenever they were anywhere near him. Senmut was making a point of learning the language as quickly as he could, but it would be some time before he could carry on a full conversation.

  The shaman and he were close in many ways, both men who stood alone, very much ahead of their contemporaries. Both had shrewd and subtle minds, Senmut tending towards the rational and logical, the shaman more at home with the inner and deeper levels of consciousness. Senmut had not trained as a priest. He had come to his position in Hatshepsut's service by his sheer natural intelligence and ability. He was looked on as scribe, teacher, architect, advisor—not as a wielder of magical artefacts or caster of spells. But he was interested in everything, and the shaman's powers fascinated him.

  In his turn the shaman had noticed Senmut from the very beginning, and not just because he was the leader of the expedition. He knew he was a man of many worlds, a traveller throughout the realms. Senmut himself might not know it yet, but the shaman knew that he would cross thresholds that were barred to the ordinary human being, and master secrets given to few to understand. He knew he would come to him and question him, and he knew he would give the answers.

  The shaman lived in a circular hut on stilts well away from the other houses, deep in the forest. To reach him, a guide had led them most of the way. As soon as the hut was within sight, however, the guide squatted on the ground and refused to go any further. Senmut, Pa-an and Thutiy had to go on alone—but not before Senmut had threatened the guide with dire consequences if he dared leave the spot.

  Without his paint, the shaman appeared to be a shrivelled old man, his bright, dark eyes sunk deep in their sockets. He greeted them curtly and indicated that they might enter and sit down on the reed matting of his dim, single-chambered domain. Pa-an was sweating profusely and made sure he was as near to the doorway as he could be. Thutiy sat where he could most easily observe the whole chamber, and Senmut sat down cross-legged directly in front of the shaman.

  After the polite preliminaries, during which the scribe stared around him, noting the skulls, the human bones, the feathers, the crystals, the shrivelled lizards, the beads, the wooden carvings, the set of drums and many other things, Senmut got straight to the point.

  “Tell me,” he asked, “those spirit forms we saw—were they really there or was that some kind of illusion you conjured?"

  The shaman grinned, and Thutiy noticed that he had no teeth.

  “The spirits were there,” the old man answered after a long silence. “The forms they took were illusion, but not of my making."

  “Whose, then?"

  “Of the people. They have pictures in their minds of how the ancestors look and they see these pictures when they feel the ancestors are near."

  “But I saw them too. Did I see different forms to everyone else?"

  “No. You saw what the others saw because many minds were projecting a single belief-form. It grew strong. It could not be ignored."

  “I noticed the drums ... The beat changed just before the spirit forms appeared."

  “The ancestors are in another realm."

  “So the drums called them?"

  “The drums allowed them to appear to us. The vibrations of the drums matched those of their realm and created a threshold."

  “We too believe the ancestors can cross the threshold. But we do not use drums."

  “What safeguards do you have to prevent them coming when you do not want them?"

  “There are many tests and judgements in the other world before one is given the freedom to come and go. The soul that may come in and out of the tomb does so freely of its own will, but only when it has won that freedom."

  The chamber was very silent for a while as the men thought about what had been said. Pa-an wanted to leave. Thutiy wondered if he would remember everything to write it down.

  It was Senmut who spoke first.

  “Would you teach me the calling of the drums?"

  The shaman looked at him intently with his bright little eyes.

  “It is dangerous if it is not done properly,” he said at last. “If irresponsible people give the call..."

  “I am not irresponsible."

  “I know. But there are mysteries. There are secrets only a shaman should know. You are a man of curiosity, living among men of curiosity. You will take the knowledge as a piece of curious lore to your people. Others will experiment. Some may pick up the beat to use, not believing, not understanding, and use it randomly. Ancestors will come and will not go back. They will enter the hearts of your people and cause mischief. All this is possible."

  “I know it. But I will be careful. I will be responsible."

  “Why do you want this knowledge? It is not the way of your people."

  “There is one with whom I wish to talk."

  “An ancestor?"

  “Imhotep—a great man. Not my personal ancestor. But a brilliant architect, an understanding teacher ... a source of great wisdom."

  The shaman's eyes seemed to bore into his.

  “I could teach you something. But not all. I would not do even this if I did not see you are already a man of knowledge, an initiate well advanced on the path."

  Senmut frowned. “I have passed no initiation rites. I have had no priest training."

  “The initiation rites that matter are never the ones given in initiation schools. There are many things you do not know about yourself yet, Egyptian."

  Senmut was silent. It was true. He felt it. He had felt restless for a long time, as though he knew something important—and yet he could not put it into words, he could not name it. He had been thinking of Imhotep more and more lately. He identified with
him, a commoner who had become the favourite of a pharaoh, the wielder of great power with great wisdom. He admired him beyond all others: a man who had lived more than a thousand years earlier, at the time of King Djoser, and yet to whom he felt as close as to his own grandfather; a man who was worshipped as a god by people who did not know a fraction of what he knew.

  He looked up at the shaman eagerly. “When can we begin?” he asked.

  “Not now. Not today. First you must learn my language."

  Senmut looked disappointed. “That will take a long time."

  “Not long,” the man said. “Our minds already speak."

  It was clear that the audience was over. Impatient as he was to start, Senmut rose too, and the three Egyptians left.

  The shaman's last words were that Senmut was not to come to this place again and seek him out. When the time was right he would call Senmut—and Senmut would know the time had come and that he was ready.

  * * * *

  When the time came, the shaman took Senmut on a journey deep into the interior. Nehsi, the commander of the expedition, protested, saying that it was essential that Hatshepsut's special envoy, the “King's messenger", should stay with the main party. Senmut begged leave of the Puntite King, Perehu.

  “My King has seen a vision of your land, my Lord,” he told him, “and has instructed me to seek out the special features of the vision. I cannot return to my land, my Lord, if I have not carried out the wishes of my King."

  Nehsi glared at Senmut. Was this true? He had heard of no such instructions, but he knew that Senmut had had a long audience with Hatshepsut just before they left and had emerged very thoughtful. Nehsi was not one of those who gossiped about Hatshepsut and Senmut—but he did notice they seemed to have a special relationship. At times he had been jealous. At other times he was relieved that it was Senmut who was the recipient of her unpredictable and sometimes violent moods. He had witnessed more than once how she humiliated Senmut in public, pouring scorn and invective against him, beyond all provocation. There were times when he had seen Senmut, sullen and physically bruised, storming out of her chambers, only to be recalled soon after to be given priceless gifts and honours. On the whole, Nehsi preferred to be an ordinary friend and advisor, and keep a certain distance from Pharaoh's secrets. But he did not like the look of that shaman with his apron of human bones, and he did not like someone as important as Senmut risking the dangers of the interior. He shuddered to think of what Hatshepsut would do if Senmut did not return. But the man was determined, and that meant there was no stopping him.

  Senmut set off alone with the shaman, refusing to accept the porters and warriors Perehu offered.

  It was no comfort to Nehsi, as he stared angrily after them, to be told through Pa-an that the King had said that because the shaman was so powerful in magic, only the greatest of demons would dare challenge him, and even they would think twice when he was accompanied by such a man as Senmut.

  The King and his advisors had been greatly impressed with Senmut. Without a common language, they had still sensed the quality in the man that had brought him from obscure and impoverished beginnings to the right hand of one of the most powerful rulers in the world. Senmut's detractors said itwas only because Hatshepsut desired him that he held the position he did. But those who knew him well knew that if Hatshepsut desired him it was because of the man he was. There were handsome men enough around her vying for her favours, and Senmut was not particularly handsome. It was the power of his spirit that made people notice him, love him and follow him. The King of Punt might well be right when he said that Senmut would be a match for any danger and any demon.

  * * * *

  They climbed through the beautiful myrrh terraces in the foothills of the high mountains, Senmut's heart stirring to the majestic dignity of the trees. Since the cedars of Kepel he had not seen any tree that moved him more. From these trees came the incense the gods loved, the incense that carried the hearts of mortal men to the gods, the incense that carried their prayers to the timeless regions, to the realms beyond the visible world. As he walked among them and heard the rustling of their leaves in the breeze coming off the mountains, his heart ached for Hatshepsut. How she would have loved to be here. He longed for her so intensely, he almost felt she was there, walking beside him, barefoot as she loved to be when she was communing with her god. She would have run on ahead so that she could be alone. She would have lifted her arms to sing that strange and haunting hymn she always sang when she was happy in the presence of her Lord. He suspected he was the only one who had ever heard it. He had asked her about it one day when he felt confident in her love. It was not in any language he had ever heard.

  She had smiled enigmatically, as she often did when she was in that particular mood. “I cannot translate it,” she had said. “My father taught it to me.” When she said “my father” in that way, he knew she meant the god Amun-Ra and not Aa-kheper-ka-Ra, the Pharaoh, her earthly father.

  Hatshepsut could not be with him here in the god's land, Punt, but Senmut could bring her a grove of living incense trees so that she might walk amongst them in her own land in the precincts of Amun's most holy temple.

  Beyond the myrrh terraces the terrain was steeper, rougher, more challenging. The heat, even for an Egyptian, was excessive. Sweat poured from him and once or twice even he wondered if he was being wise to follow the shaman so unquestioningly. The man scarcely looked back, but climbed like a mountain goat. Senmut longed to rest, but dared not let the old man out of his sight.

  At nightfall they made camp, the shaman circling their fire many times chanting spells and throwing coloured dust into the flames. Senmut, the city dweller, the sophisticated courtier, the ruler of many men, looked around uneasily. The shadows in this country seemed darker than any he had ever encountered before. There were no stars, and a cloud lay between the heavens and the earth.

  Senmut was uncomfortable, overtired and filled with doubts. He noticed the shaman removing several human bones from his apron and setting them up like little sentinels to guard the four directions.

  When the shaman came at last to squat before the fire beside him, Senmut asked about the bones.

  “In my country we would think it sacrilege to use the dead so,” he said.

  “In mine it is an honour. When a man dies, we give his flesh to the birds that his spirit may fly in the sky and join the gods. His bones remain with us. If he has been an evil or a foolish man, or even just an average man, we bury them in their mother earth, and she takes care of him in her own way. But in the case of a great man, we bargain with her to let us keep some of his strength with us. She makes us a gift of some of his bones. They are potent magic—strong and fearsome magic. No one but the shaman may touch them."

  “What would happen if I touched them?” Senmut asked, thinking how strange other people's customs were. The shaman's belief in his relics was strong. Was it his belief that made them effective—or was there something in the bones themselves? His own people went to great lengths to keep the body of the deceased intact, believing that part of its spiritual essence, its ka, would leave forever if there were no physical body to draw it back to earth.

  “If you touched them when you were not prepared you would be taking a great risk. Some shadow from the bone might enter you. It might not leave you and you might never again be free of it."

  “You touch them."

  “I am prepared."

  Senmut stood up restlessly. He was tired and he ached in every limb, but he felt like moving away from the fire. It had a strange smell from the powder the shaman had thrown in. He felt like distancing himself from the man—and from the bones.

  The shaman raised his hand imperiously, and he stopped.

  “Do not cross the lines between the relics,” he said, quietly but menacingly. “On the other side of those lines I cannot protect you."

  Senmut looked at the bones, the leg bones standing upright, white in the flickering light from the fire. He saw
a faint luminous line passing between them, boxing him in.

  He sat down again. He felt very strange. He wished he had not come. From the darkness beyond the box created by the bones, he could hear uncanny sounds, whether of animals, or insects, or demons, he was not sure.

  “Sleep,” the shaman said.

  But, Senmut thought, weary as he was, he would never be able to get to sleep. The old man lay down on the ground and shut his eyes. Senmut, squatting beside him, looked at him closely, wishing he understood more than he did. If what the shaman did with the bones worked, and if what his own people did with their deceased worked—where was the truth?

  He buried his head on his knees and prayed to Maat—she who guarded the order and the truth of the world, she who kept the balance of all that is, she who understood the heart.

  Was she standing there in the firelight? If he lifted his head, would he see her? He felt her presence. He had felt it before when he, as architect, had experienced the inrush of a great design. He had known then she was there helping him, for every line he drew had been in the right place. Without even trying, he had created a beautiful and harmonious plan that he knew would work, for it was true of heart.

  But now he was not opening himself to her guidance as an architect; he was questioning the very root from which the order of the world grew.

  Was she smiling at him? He could feel her smile.

  Ai, she was beautiful—everything in proportion. Upon her head her numinous feather drew his inner eye.

  She did not speak. There were no words to say what she said to him, but before she moved away he knew that seeking sincerely, humbly and with love was the only way, and nothing would be found with arrogance and aggression.