by Marié Heese
“A warrior Pharaoh, like Thutmose the First, may he live.”
“May he live,” they chorused, and swallowed more beer.
“We should march,” stated Wall-eye aggressively. He did not look as though he had ever marched anywhere in his life, having a pot-belly and skinny legs, but he had the attitude. “We should march north to Megiddo. I hear they have plenty, plenty stores of wheat. We’ll be needing it.”
His companions nodded sagely.
Ahmose was frowning horribly at me, probably expecting me to leap to the Pharaoh’s defence, but it was clear that the two of us would come off second best in a fight with these persons, and I did no more than stare miserably into my jug. It is becoming undeniable that the gods are angry. But what the reason is for this, who is to say?
I shall not report these mutterings to Her Majesty. She will come to hear them soon enough.
THE TWENTY-SIXTH SCROLL
The reign of Hatshepsut year 21:
The second month of Peret day 30
The Opet festival did not have the effects that I desired. The people have not been won over, nor have the gods been mollified. The inundation never came. It was not a matter of a more limited flood than usual; there has truly been no flood at all. Last month should have been the month in which the inundation peaks. The end of summer. Then the water should have receded, leaving the rich black earth ready for the planting. Farmers should have sown their seed and chased the sheep into the lands to tread the seeds into the fecund earth. But the Nile did not rise; it did not turn green, then red, then brown. The fields have not been blessed. Hapi has for once deserted me.
Also, the pronouncement of the oracle has done considerable damage despite my best efforts to contain it. Rumours run everywhere like water, and like water seeping into cracked foundations they may yet cause the edifice of the throne to collapse. All my offerings to my heavenly father, Amen-Ra, appear to be bootless and ineffectual. He too has turned his face from me, alas!
For months, now, I have felt helpless and bereft. It seems that, on the one hand, the gods have abandoned me; on the other hand I can no longer depend on the many men, formerly loyal, who have served me. Even after his passing, it became clear that Senenmut – but let me not write of that. I will write no more of that.
In my desperation I have not known where to turn. Wakeful night follows wakeful night, and though I yearn for the sweet ease of sleep, it eludes me. Or if it comes, it brings bad dreams. Then this morning when I arose, I stepped in a sticky patch of blood. Sekhmet had deposited a headless rat beside my bed. I felt quite ill.
Being sorely in need of a distraction, I decided yesterday to pay a visit to my beloved Djeser-Djeseru. It would be an unofficial visit; I was determined to go as I had gone before, once more in my life, without the usual entourage of ladies-in-waiting, royal guards, servants and slaves. Instead I called upon Mahu, who accompanied me to that place some years ago and protected me with his life. I told him what I wanted to do, and as I expected, he was aghast and tried to dissuade me.
“Majesty!” he cried. “It would be dangerous, extremely dangerous. Although the Pharaoh is beloved, of course, there are always … there are those who … It cannot be contemplated, to go without the guards!”
“I know there are those who seek my death,” I told him. “But they will not expect me to do this. We shall go during the time of afternoon rest, when I am known to withdraw to the portico of the residential palace. Also there are not so many people moving about then.”
“But, Majesty! How … how …”
“I shall be disguised,” I said. “Perhaps I could pretend to be your sister. I shall wear a plain shift and a woven shawl covering my head and most of my face. You must order an ordinary sedan chair and accompany me to the quay, where there should be a simple boat that does not require a large crew.”
“It will not work,” he moaned, “the disguise will not work.”
“Why should it not?” I was growing irritated with his opposition.
He rolled his eyes desperately. “People will see … it will be obvious …”
“I shall muffle my face,” I said, “and remove all jewellery.”
Still he shook his head.
“Why do you shake your head?” I demanded angrily.
“Even in a plain shift,” he said, “Majesty will still have the manner of a Pharaoh.”
“Oh,” I said, thoughtfully. Perhaps he had a point. “Well, then, maybe I should wear an elegant, fringed linen robe with a faience necklace and a fine shawl, and I shall be a lady-in-waiting. Some of them are more imperious than the Pharaoh. Yes, I think that would do very well. You are so clever, Mahu.”
He still looked miserable, but I knew he did not have the temerity to deny me, nor would he betray me in any way. “As Pharaoh commands,” he reluctantly agreed.
So we went together. I told my guards to stand outside my bedroom as I would sleep for a while, exchanged clothing with a young lady-in-waiting and gave them the slip. As we left the gates of the palace, I looked around. “No sedan chairs?” I asked, surprised.
“Majesty, it is not far,” said Mahu apologetically. “There is a short way down to the river. Ordinary people,” he cleared his throat, “would walk.”
“Oh, I see. Very well, then.” It was strange to be on foot in the streets of Thebes instead of being carried along in a chair or seated upon an elevated throne above the crowds. Directly outside the palace, the broad avenue stretched ahead of us, leading to the temple of the God at Karnak. According to my orders, an impressive route has been established for the God and the Pharaoh to travel through Thebes during festivals. It links the palace with the shrine of the god Amen and also with that of his consort Mut. This paved processional way is a superb design that has added much to the dignity of Thebes.
Turning off from the broad avenue towards the river, we found ourselves suddenly in a very different environment. Here the streets were crooked and narrow, winding between tall but badly built tenements, pressed up against each other and blocking out the light. A pungent odour of fish, animals and sewage made me wrinkle my nose. A bearded goat peered at me through an open window, bleating mournfully. By the tears of Isis, I thought, these people share their living space with animals! I had much ado to avoid stepping in excrement.
It was not so very short a distance, either. Soon I was perspiring profusely from the sun and unaccustomed exercise. I wished that I was still as slim and fit as I was for my Sed festival, six years ago, but in truth, I am not. I glared at Mahu, who strolled along by my side whistling innocently. He did this on purpose, I thought, intending to discomfit me. I lifted my chin. But I would not give him the satisfaction of hearing me complain. I picked up the hem of my fringed and finely pleated robe and stepped delicately around the turds.
On reaching the river bank, Mahu found a pleasure boat for hire. It had an awning over a cushioned dais and was manned by a few stalwart sailors. One of them handed me on board with a firm grip, and I caught his grunted aside to Mahu: “Huh! An expensive one!”
We pushed off and the current took us along smartly. Mahu sat some distance from me in his scribe’s position, looking nervous, but as the boat sailed on and nobody gave me a second glance he began to relax. Before long we were approaching the bay where the glorious temple stands.
“I had seen but eleven risings of the Nile the first time I sailed towards this bay,” I said dreamily.
“Yes, Ma … Maya,” he responded. I had told him to call me Maya, for he kept wanting to say “Majesty”.
Once we had alighted, I instructed Mahu to sit down and wait for me. “I shall go into the temple alone,” I said, brooking no opposition.
Steadily I mounted the broad, sweeping staircase leading up to the first terrace. Despite the poor inundation, I noticed that the trees my ships had brought from Punt still flourish. It seemed to me that Senenmut was very near. I know that I have written I would refer to him no more. I have tried to shut him out of
my memory. But I cannot. His name is engraved on my heart just as it is upon the walls of the temple where I stood, looking around me. This, I thought, is the superb creation that the two of us together dreamed, designed, brought into being and finished in a manner that is surely pleasing to the gods. Without lingering, I walked past the relief carvings on the walls of the colonnades and chapels that provide a detailed record of my life and the main events of my reign.
In various places within the temple there are small representations of Senenmut, carved where the wooden doors of shrines and statue niches must cover them from public gaze when the doors are open for worship. Yet there they are, showing him kneeling or standing with arms outstretched, worshipping both the god Amen and myself, the Pharaoh, King Ma’atkare Hatshepsut. It was done with my knowledge and consent, and this is stated in a text carved on the reveals of the doorway leading into the north-west offering hall. It is written: “… in accordance with the King’s generosity which extended to this servant in allowing his name to be established on every wall of the King’s great temple in Djeser-Djeseru …”
I stared at this text and I felt his presence. There was nobody else about. “Did you tell her, Senenmut?” I asked him. “Did you tell her, damn you?”
I have been so angry with him since discovering that he had a wife. Even more so because of the message that he sent through her. That was our secret that none other should ever have shared. Yet now I have had time to think about it and my ire has subsided. I do not believe that he told her the entire tale. The message in itself is quite neutral; it tells one nothing if one does not know what it implies. No, her demeanour would surely have been different had she known the whole. I think he kept faith with me after all.
I stood behind a door and I traced the outline of one of the secret carvings of him with my finger. Cold stone. No blood, no breath, no life force. Yet while he lived the life force was powerful in him. He was a man of great energy and appetites. And while he lived, I and none other had his heart. I know that now. Even when he was angry with me, he loved me still.
What matter that he took another woman to his bed; she was no more than a minor wife. It still hurts me that he spent his seed in her, and that she brought forth two boys. Yet I understand the urge to leave something behind of one’s own blood and bone. Had it not been for the existence of my grandson Amenhotep, I would account my own legacy poor indeed, despite all the building done during my reign.
I have seen the boys. I told the guards to fetch them to my small audience chamber soon after they had been installed in the residential palace. They are as like each other as my own visage is to its reflection in a mirror of highly polished brass. They entered into my presence bravely, holding each other’s hands, and knelt and kissed the ground as they had been taught. How comforting, I thought, to have another so like oneself always at one’s side, almost like an embodied Ka. Surely then one can never be lonely. They looked at me with their mother’s unusually light-coloured amber eyes. They had her small neat nose also, and the spindly legs of young children, the knees scabbed with play. I saw nothing at all of Senenmut in them. I was not sure whether I was relieved or sorry. I gave them each a tiger nut sweet and sent them away.
Standing alone in the temple he built for me, I traced the figure on the wall again. Its arms were outstretched in an attitude of worship. To this day I am not certain whether it was truly I myself whom Senenmut adored. Had I not been Pharaoh, would he have remained in thrall to me as indeed he did, despite the little wife who could hardly ever have had him by her side? Would he then have desired me just as a woman, would he have married me and remained by my side all his life? Or was his devotion to the Pharaoh only? It is possible, I know that.
Yet I remember how, here in this very place, he held my hand and put his fingers on my wrist and told me he could sense the voice of my heart and that it spoke to him. I remember those words and I remember how we were together, and I remember all those years of devoted service, and I think, now, that he loved me truly, loved none else but me; that he was faithful to me, in his fashion.
By the tears of Isis, I thought, what have I done? In my fit of destructive rage, I had your tombs stripped and your grave goods dispersed and your statues and images destroyed; most terrible act of all, I had your mummy taken from its resting place and given to the crocodiles. In my fury I tried to wipe out your name and bar your way to eternity. Have I condemned your Ka to wander forever homeless, forever seeking sustenance and finding none? Have I banished you to barren darkness? Or worse, to a never-ending battle through the dread Duat? Senenmut, what have I done to you?
Yet here you are still; your images are here, your name is engraved on these walls. Statues of you still exist intact. While there are such representations of your bodily form, you are not lost, you cannot be lost. You cannot be destroyed.
My heart prays for you: May Horus open your mouth. May all the shining beings see you, may they hear your name. Oh, you judges of the Afterlife, take the man Senenmut unto yourselves; let him eat what you eat, let him drink what you drink; let him live upon that which you live upon; let your boat be his boat, let him net birds in the Fields of the Blessed, let him have running streams.
I am heartsore, my love. Sad to my very bones. Sad that we could not have broken the jar and grown old together, with a pair of fine boys to look after us in our old age. Sad that we had only that one night when we could be together simply, a man and a woman, and know each other and be happy.
There will be no more destruction. No further attacks. I shall see to it that regular offerings are made to the false-door stela in your mortuary chapel, so that your Ka may feed. May you reach the Field of Reeds, the Fields of the Blessed. May you live for ever.
I turned and left the temple. I felt that I had in some way indeed communed with the one who built it for me. As I walked down the wide stairs towards the river, I was more at ease than I have been since that woman came to me.
A thought came to me while we were sailing back. I wondered whether I might yet contract a second marriage. A treacherous thought, for I have always been assured of my own strength, my own clear insights, good judgement and ability to rule. Yes, I have reigned alone and I alone have sustained Khemet. But in these times I feel beset on all sides; I have no single friend in whom I have absolute trust. I have nobody with whom to share my thoughts. Nobody in whose presence I can be simply a woman and not the Pharaoh and a god.
In Egypt itself there is no suitable mate for me. Quite simply because such a one would need to have royal blood. I have always believed that any marriage to a lesser person would weaken my position, not strengthen it, and that still holds true. Certainly I do not want a man who seeks to govern me as well as the Black Land. Besides, Thutmose would never stand for it. We would have civil war. No, no, that would not do.
Could I turn to the Mitanni, perhaps? Propose an alliance? Or is it too late for such a move? Are they in truth already preparing to go to war against Khemet? Lately my memories of that young prince of the Mitanni have revived. I remember our conversation when he visited our kingdom that night when I was but nine, when I heard the songs of the blind bard. Perhaps I should send an envoy bearing the golden bracelet that the prince gave me then to remind him of that meeting long ago. An alliance with him would make me more powerful, not less; together we would be doubly royal, and the two kingdoms would be united by ties of blood, perhaps more binding than the golden bribes we have been using. There would be an entire empire’s army to call upon to help defend our throne should the need arise. That alone might be sufficient to keep the ambitions of the runt in check.
Of course I know that prince is probably dead by now. And even if he lives, the young prince is surely no longer young nor handsome. It may be that he has a pot belly, foul breath and no teeth. I do not look forward to a union with someone gross. I wondered how much older he was than me. About ten years, I should estimate. That would make him fifty-one, if he still breathes. No. Much
too old. Since women generally age better than men – I do not think that I look particularly aged, even if I have been slimmer, and I feel no embarrassment in wearing a diaphanous linen robe – it would be better to seek a partner younger than myself. Yes, I thought, perhaps the prince in question has a younger brother; the King of the Mitanni has doubtless sired many princes. They could supply a young and virile man to stand at my right hand; also to share my bed. Perhaps such an invitation might serve to avoid a violent confrontation.
The idea grew more and more attractive as the boat sailed on towards Thebes. Even yet, my monthly flux is strong; I could still bear a son to inherit the Double Throne. A son to lead men and to govern wisely. Or a daughter who would be like Neferure was, may she live. Suddenly, as I sat alone upon the dais beneath the striped awning, my body ached with longing for a human touch. Oh, how I longed for a warm embrace, for a lover’s arms, a child’s hug, a baby’s milky breath against my cheek! It seemed to me that my very skin was hungry. Hungry for other skin to give it sustenance. Perhaps that is how the Ka yearns for food in the Afterlife.
The scribe Mahu was sitting at a slight distance from me, looking somewhat less strained now that we were returning to Thebes. He has attractive hands, I thought: a scribe’s hands, slightly stained with ink but not worn and calloused as a labourer’s would be.
“Mahu,” I said. “Come nearer.”
“Ma … Maya?”
“I said, come nearer to me. I want you to sit beside me, on this cushion.”
Stiffly and respectfully, he moved over, swaying with the movement of the boat, which was now sailing briskly before the wind. His eyes swerved from side to side, but nobody was paying any attention to us. He took place beside me, bolt upright.
“Hold my hand,” I said.
“Ma … Maya?” He looked petrified.
“You heard me. Hold my hand. We are together on a pleasure boat which you hired for the afternoon. I am a lady-in-waiting whom you know well. Hold my hand.”
