The Double Crown: Secret Writings of the Female Pharaoh

by Marié Heese

  “Yes, Majesty,” he agreed reluctantly. “But three days, truly, should suffice. We must husband our resources.”

  “Very well, then, three. But I shall order another obelisk,” I told him. “Not a pair, there will not be time. But definitely one. And this one is to be the tallest, the most amazing spire the world has ever seen, reaching to the heavens. One solid piece of granite like my other two pairs. Not a single join. I shall dedicate it to the god Amen-Ra at Karnak.”

  “But, Majesty, surely they will not be able to complete it so quickly?”

  “If only one is to be made, I believe it can be done. It is early Akhet now, and the festival will take place at the end of the second month, for the moon will only be in the right phase by then. I have made up my mind. Amenhotep must put a huge team to work upon it, to get it ready so that its erection may be the culmination of the festival.”

  He had by this time understood that I was determined. “Pharaoh has spoken,” he said. But his lips were thin.

  Of course, he knew and I knew the deeper meaning of the Opet festival. Besides ensuring a good inundation, it also emphasises the bond between the gods – particularly Amen-Ra – and the Pharaoh. It constitutes a renewal of the King’s right and power to rule. The coronation rites are repeated. Once again the might of Amen is bequeathed through ritual to his son, the Living Horus. Hapuseneb could not deny me the right to carry out these ceremonies, so essential to the link between the visible and the Invisible and therefore also essential to the very survival of the Black Land.

  Having set matters in train for the Opet festival, I slept better than I have for some time. But the lady-in-waiting who awakened me this morning brought ill news. She was clearly nervous as she prepared my clothing and set out the jewelled collar and studded bracelet I had elected to wear for the early session in the Grand Audience Chamber. A deputation from Nubia was due and I intended to look very regal. Once or twice she began to speak but swallowed her words and went on hastily with her duties, eyes averted.

  “Oh, come out with it, woman,” I said testily. “I can see that you are big with news. Doubtless it is bad, or you would not look so fearful.”

  “Majesty,” she said, and fell to her knees in front of the low chair I sat in while a second lady arranged my elaborate wig. It has been so hot that I ordered my head shaved. The wig would later be replaced by the crown that was kept in the Vizier’s office.

  “Well? What is it?”

  Indeed I was expecting bad news, for at present it seems there is no other kind. Yet I was not prepared for her announcement, nor for the force with which it struck at my heart.

  “Majesty, it … it concerns the dwarf,” she told me.

  “Well, what of him?” Guiltily I thought that I had neglected Bek of late. When he was well he used to come daily to amuse me, but since he was attacked in the tavern I do not see him often. Yet I try not to let too many days pass without at least ordering some fruit or tiger nut sweets, which he loves like a child, to be taken to him.

  “Majesty, he is dying.”

  “What!” I stared at her stupidly. She blinked and dipped her head.

  “Hapu does not think that he will see tomorrow,” she said. “He told me to inform Your Majesty.”

  “But why … he has not been ill, has he? Why was I not told before?”

  “Not ill, Majesty.” She pleated a fold in her tunic.

  “What then? Surely he was not set upon again!”

  “No, Majesty.” At last she looked up. “He has drunk poison,” she whispered.

  “Poison! By Seth and all his devils! Who was responsible for this? He shall not breathe!”

  “No, Majesty. He … he took it himself. He told the physician when the other slaves found him lying on the floor. He says that he does not wish to live.”

  Anger and grief coursed through me. Also guilt. This should not have happened. I should not have allowed it to happen. Bek was like a child to me and I should have cared for him better.

  “I shall go to see him,” I said, removing the heavy wig and dumping it on the bed.

  My dresser was upset. “But Majesty! The viceroy from Kush awaits!” she remonstrated.

  “Let him wait. Send word to the Vizier.” I strode barefoot along the corridors to the slave quarters. I knew where Bek’s room was, the one where Yunit had breathed her last. My lady had to trot to keep up with me.

  In the small room with its plain brick walls Bek lay on a simple sleeping mat, flat on his back with his toes turned up. The sour smell of vomit hung in the air, but he was clean and so was the floor. Hapu sat on a low stool beside him holding his hand.

  “Majesty,” said Hapu, struggling to rise. The years have attacked his knees and he is no longer nimble.

  “Sit,” I ordered. “Tell me at once. Is there yet hope?”

  Hapu collapsed back onto the stool with a deep sigh. I knew that he was fond of Bek himself and he looked miserable. “No, Majesty,” he said. “I have tried emetics. They made him regurgitate, but I fear it was too late. He must have drunk the potion hours before he was found.”

  “Is there nothing … can you do nothing at all to help?” Tears were pricking my eyes. The small figure more than ever resembled a child as he lay there quietly, barely breathing, his eyes closed.

  “No, Majesty. He has taken the kind of poison that paralyses the body. Some kind of snake venom, I suspect. Soon he will no longer be able to breathe. I can do nothing.” Hapu shook his head and rubbed Bek’s limp hand.

  “But where did he get such a thing? Who supplied it? The guilty person must be punished! He must be found, he must …”

  Hapu went on shaking his head. “Bek will have bribed some slave to fetch it. There are those who trade in such things, but they are very careful – nobody ever knows their names. Certainly, whoever brought it crept here in the dark and now is nameless also. Let it be, Majesty.”

  I knelt on the floor next to the mat and took Bek’s other hand in mine. It felt cold.

  “Bek,” I said urgently.

  His eyelids fluttered.

  “Bek? Speak to me!” Somehow I could not bear to lose him without a word.

  Slowly his eyes opened and his gaze fixed on mine. “Majesty,” he whispered. His breath was as light as a spring breeze in a sycamore tree. I leaned closer, gripping his cold fingers.

  “Majesty, I am … sorry.”

  “Dear Bek,” I said.

  “I can no longer … do … what I do well,” he breathed. “And all those I loved and … who loved me … have gone … into the Afterlife. I long … to join them. Forgive me, Majesty.”

  Bereft of words, I patted his hand. He pressed my fingers weakly. I continued to kneel next to him while he breathed in short, shallow gasps. In a few moments he ceased breathing altogether. I rose awkwardly and stood looking at the small, utterly quiet figure with its spindly legs – still, I noted, crooked from the grievous injuries he had suffered for my sake.

  The thought of this was too much for me and I began to weep. Hapu stood up also. He shook his head despondently.

  “I am sorry, Majesty,” he said. “Sorry that I could not help him. Could not prevent or cure. I failed him.”

  “You did your best, Hapu,” I said through my tears. “If anyone failed him it was I. I should have taken better note of him.”

  “Well,” said Hapu, “I hope that he will reach the Fields of the Blessed, and that when he does, he will be able to run again.”

  “And turn somersaults,” I said, attempting to regain my composure. I yet had work to do.

  Hapu smiled sadly. “May he live for ever.”

  “I shall give orders for offerings to the gods,” I said. Perhaps they would be merciful, I thought, seeing that the supplications would be for Bek and not for me.

  Shortly after Bek had gone to the Afterlife, Ibana came to report. He brought two persons with him, a soldier and a slave. The heavy door to the office where I held the interview was shut, and they all spoke in
low voices. The slave was a short, thickset woman with black hair. She held something wrapped in linen in her hands. The soldier was a strapping young Egyptian, clean-shaven and bald.

  “Show Her Majesty what you have found,” Ibana instructed the woman. “Put it on the table over there.”

  The woman moved forwards hesitantly. Then she unrolled the linen and two small items fell out. She seemed not to want to touch them. She bit her lip and looked up at me.

  I peered at the small figurines that now lay on the table top. Then I gasped. The one was a waxen likeness of myself – indeed, quite an artistic one. It even wore a miniature double crown and a false beard and a robe. Three sharp spikes were buried in it, one in the abdomen, one in the chest and one in the head. The second was a model of Thutmose, correct down to his special bow. It was pierced by two spikes in the side. Suddenly I felt as if I could not breathe.

  “Where did you find these?” I demanded.

  “In a … in a chest,” the slave whispered.

  “Whose chest?”

  “Belonging to General Khani,” she whispered.

  I felt cold with shock. “I don’t believe it! You lie, woman!”

  Tears stood in her eyes. “Majesty, it is the truth, I swear it. If I lie, may my heart give witness against me in the Afterlife! I swear it by the risen Osiris!”

  I stared hard at her. These were serious oaths. She was trembling, but her dark eyes held mine. Her manner spoke of truthfulness. I have learned to smell out liars with considerable success, but she did not seem to me to be lying.

  “This woman cleans General Khani’s quarters,” said Ibana. “And sees to his clothing.”

  “That is true, Majesty,” said the soldier, clearing his throat. “I serve as the General’s factotum in Thebes. When on campaign he travels light, but here he likes to have a choice of cloaks. I told this slave to prepare for the General’s return – he is due back from the North. She was airing the woven mantles that had been stored away, and she discovered these … objects … wrapped in a towel in the bottom of a chest. She brought them straight to me.”

  “You are suggesting that they were there for … some time?”

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  For as long as Khani was away, I supposed. And that is just as long as I have been feeling not myself. If someone has been putting evil spells on me, that would explain it. But Khani! My friend, my most reliable informer! I could not credit it.

  I looked at Ibana. “How did you come to know of this?”

  “The factotum is one of my spies,” he told me. “He keeps me up to date with the General’s doings.”

  “Majesty, I serve the Great Commander, and I serve the Pharaoh. If any plan their downfall, it is my duty to report on them.” Zeal shone in the young man’s eyes.

  I looked down at the terrible little objects. “Wrap them again,” I told the slave. “And leave them with me.” I turned to Ibana. “I will consider this carefully,” I said.

  “Majesty should act, and soon,” he said. “I await instructions.”

  I would have to take these figurines to a priest, so that he could remove the spikes and devise some spells to counteract the evil magic. But what could clear the devilish suspicion from my heart?

  This cannot be true, I told myself. Surely it must be a fiendish plot. Yes, I was inclined to believe that the two witnesses were speaking the truth, for their manner had been convincing, and they did not seem to be the kind of people who might be practised liars. Yet the figurines could easily have been planted for them to find by someone who wanted to drive a wedge between my last good friend and me. Someone who wanted me to be filled with suspicion, to fear for my life and to feel entirely isolated. Very possible.

  And yet, as Mahu told me, there have been those dreadful rumours about Khani. Does Khani in truth desire the Double Throne? Has he harboured thoughts of revenge for all these years? Am I his enemy and not his friend? Would he rejoice to see me bleed? Does he seek my death?

  Is there no loyalty, no faithfulness anywhere? This, added to the perfidy of Senenmut – but no. I have vowed: I will write no more of that.

  This afternoon as I was resting on my portico with Bastet on my lap, Khani appeared as he always used to, silently, out of the shadows. I looked up and there he stood. He made a deep obeisance and said, “Majesty!”

  “Khani!” I exclaimed. For a moment I was delighted to see him, and had I not been Pharaoh I think I would have jumped up and thrown my arms around him. But then I recalled Ibana’s report and I resisted that impulse and just looked at him. He stood stiffly and the silence lengthened. I stroked the cat.

  “Majesty is displeased with me?” he asked.

  “You did not write,” I said, accusingly. “I did receive reports, but none from your own hand.”

  “For some time I was too ill to write,” he told me. “I was wounded early on, in a skirmish with a desert tribe. It was only a slight wound, but it festered badly and I was delirious. The physician Minhotep pulled me through with herbal concoctions.”

  “You do look very thin,” I said, observing him carefully. His ebony face had a greyish tinge.

  “But when I grew better, I did write,” he said. “I wrote often.”

  “Often? I had no letters from you, all this time. None at all.”

  “Intercepted, no doubt,” he said. “I have enemies in Thebes. As do you, Majesty.”

  “It is possible.” Time was when I would have believed him implicitly. Now, though, I look at him and I see a pretender to the Double Throne, bent on revenge for old wrongs and greedy for power.

  “Majesty,” said Khani, “I bring a warning. There can be no doubt now that Khemet will have to go to war. Our dominions in the north-east are growing restless, and the Prince of Kadesh is the leader of the rebels. They are gathering around him in considerable numbers, ready to do battle. Not only the Hittites, but the Mitanni and the Canaanites also. Tough and determined soldiers, Majesty.”

  “And how do you know this? You did not travel north as far as Kadesh, surely?”

  “No. But we have scouts, who went that far and observed what was going on. Also, we captured some Bedouin who turned out to be spies for the Hittites. They were … persuaded … to tell us what they knew. Large armies are mustering. Already their advance guard attacks and plunders our outposts. We shall have to act, and act decisively.”

  “What do you think should be done?”

  “For a start it will be necessary to take Megiddo, to teach the rebels a lesson. Furthermore, we are reliably informed that they have laid up a substantial wheat harvest. It could be confiscated and brought to Egypt.”

  “And why, in that case, have you come home? Turned tail, did you?”

  “I obeyed the instructions of my Pharaoh,” he said, stiffly. “I came to tell Your Majesty in person what the situation is, since I had no responses to my letters. I came to urge the dispatch of an entire army, not merely one or two divisions.”

  “Should I send the Great Commander?” I asked, watching him carefully.

  He did not hesitate. “Yes, Majesty. As soon as possible. I will gladly serve under him.”

  And you would have every opportunity of dispatching him to the Afterlife, I thought, and making it seem the fortune of war. You could then take the command, subdue the rebels (whose strength and determination you have no doubt exaggerated), return as a conquering hero bearing treasure and food, and usurp the throne. Probably also allowing an insurgency from the south, from your own country, the wretched Kush.

  I could not believe that I was having such thoughts about my old friend and faithful supporter. Yet it was as if the devils of Seth had crept into my heart, making me fearful and suspicious. What should I do? What should I believe? What should I decide?

  “I shall put it to my advisers,” I said.

  He made an obeisance and left silently as ever.

  I was much disturbed. Bastet sensed my restlessness and jumped off my lap, whereupon Sekhmet chased h
er off the portico into the garden. I watched them streaking across the flower beds with a troubled heart. I do not want to do this. I think most of my advisors will think we should go to war. But I shall insist on a delay, while we first send more scouts to ascertain whether Khani speaks the truth or whether he exaggerates.

  I have nobody left whom I can trust.

  Here endeth the twenty-fourth scroll.

  I am hurt, sorely hurt, that Her Majesty does not think of me as someone she can trust, someone she can depend upon. It is not that she does not trust me, in truth. The fact is that she does not think of me at all. She forgets me altogether. She forgets that I breathe. And yet I saved her life once; and even now I hold it in my hands.

  They are dangerous documents, these scrolls that I carry away with me. The one I brought out today, for example … It gives me power to have these words of the Pharaoh in my possession. Of course she does not know that I read what she writes. She believes that the royal seal keeps her words private. She never suspects that I have insight into her thoughts; that I am, in some way, an intimate confidant of the King.

  It has occurred to me that I could betray her. Yes, I must admit that I have thought of this. More than once. I have considered showing the scrolls to the Grand Vizier and I have thought he would reward me. Richly. I might be given many debens of gold for making these writings known to him and to the Great Commander. I might achieve high office by such means. I might become a great name in the land, with many titles, with much property and many slaves.

  Now it has occurred to me that General Khani might give much to read this latest scroll. For that matter, I could go and fetch all of the scrolls that I have so carefully hidden, and take them to him. He would know her heart, then, he would know all her weaknesses, her suspicions, her doubts. If indeed he is as ambitious as she thinks he may be, if he does indeed desire the Double Throne, what might I not gain by giving him these insights? What rewards might not be mine?

  But no. But no. I have the Pharaoh’s trust. Once I saved her life. By the Ka of Thoth, I will keep faith with her. Even though she does not think of me. Were I to betray my King, it would be an act against Ma’at. I will not do it.