The Double Crown: Secret Writings of the Female Pharaoh (14 page)

When at last the barque of Ra appeared, the sun’s rays seemed to reflect from every facet of every rock and stone in that vast valley. The surrounding cliffs, that had been so stark and bleak, were magically transformed into a glittering palace of light. It seemed to me to be an excellent omen. Just so, I trusted, would the spirit of my father continue to triumph over the powers of darkness and come forth by day.

The ritual of the funeral greatly comforted me, especially the part played by my husband in honouring his father and freeing his spirit. I saw these actions as a link with former generations stretching back over the centuries, an essential element in the framework that keeps the Black Land stable and satisfies the gods. A framework that the Pharaoh holds in place, as I have striven to do throughout my reign.

Ah, yes, many years have passed since that night spent in the valley. One day a funeral procession will march along that self-same route bearing my body to join that of my late father, may he live for ever, in that self-same tomb, for I have given orders that an additional chamber with a great sarcophagus be prepared in it for me. One day a funeral oration will be spoken for me out there in the moonlight. What will be said of Hatshepsut? What will my greatest legacy be?

The people will weep, for they always weep when a Pharaoh goes to the gods. But will there be a single person standing before my tomb who will truly weep for me? Only the gods can tell. Well, that night must come as it comes for all. But not just yet. I still have work to do and responsibilities to meet.

After the funeral of my royal father a grand coronation ceremony took place and my half-brother and husband Thutmose became the second Pharaoh of that name. I stood proudly by his side during the joyous festival celebrating his ascent of the Double Throne. Now I was the Great Royal Wife, and I undeniably outranked the lady Mutnofert.

From the beginning I played an important role during my husband’s reign. In many ways I had been prepared for this. The years I had spent as the God’s Wife of Amen stood me in good stead, as did the experience I had had assisting my royal father. I think that my dear husband would have much preferred to live the life of a noble with nothing more taxing than some wine farms to oversee. But there was no other choice. Even though his strength was not great, Thutmose had to follow his destiny and mount the Double Throne.

So he needed me to stand by his side and he needed me to be strong as he grew constantly weaker, in body if not in spirit. Within a few months I stood in his place more and more often, conferring daily with the viziers and the treasurer, conducting morning audiences, dispensing justice, calling for conferences with the appropriate counsellors in the small audience chamber, and hosting visits from nomarchs and foreign deputations. Yes, almost from the time of my royal father’s funeral, I was the one who guided Khemet. As, indeed, had been his wish.

It was at this time that my husband sent the punitive expedition to the Land of Kush and Khani was brought back a captive. As I have written, I spoke for him and he was spared. He attended the palace school with the children of nobles and lesser wives and concubines and he did well. I often sent for news of him, for I felt a bond, and reports were positive.

Also at this time, I had quickened with child. In the beginning I was often nauseous, and it seemed to me that every scent in the world had intensified and turned strange just to torment me. Especially the smell of frying fish that so often wafts through the streets of Thebes was a sore trial to me, and I banned certain unguents that I had delighted in before. But soon the worst of the nausea passed and, as my abdomen swelled and my small breasts grew full, I gloried in my condition. I felt filled with vigour and blessed by the gods; it was a time of flowering and bearing fruit. I felt very alive and aware of being a part of the great river of time that bears the generations through the ages. I was convinced that I bore the next Living Horus beneath my heart.

Oh, my child. My child. My child. She was born when I was fourteen. I was young and strong and I did not labour greatly.

Just after my light midday meal, my waters broke in a rush of warm liquid that left me standing, shocked and embarrassed at this sudden dereliction of my usually well-behaved body, with my feet in a puddle on the tiles. Then the contractions began, soon coming thick and fast, and the midwives – no less than three – propelled me firmly to the corner of the room where they had prepared a structure upon which I was to squat while giving birth. One of them stood before me holding my hands, while one rubbed my back, which felt as if an ill-tempered mule had let fly at it with its hind hooves. The third kept doing inspections and cheering me on.

Truly, whether one be a fishwife or a queen, there is no dignity at such a time. Anyone may peer and prod at one’s most private parts and make pronouncements on the state of them. One’s body becomes nothing more than a portal, stretched and wrenched open for the new being to pass through, and one is wrung without mercy, squeezed together and torn apart alternately with no quarter given.

Fortunately I had spent only a few hours squatting on the bricks when, after one huge despairing push, she slid into the midwives’ hands, and soon she cried lustily, so that one could be sure she breathed. Never, even at my coronation, have I felt as powerful and as proud of myself as I did when I held my first-born in my arms. I knew that the god Khnum had fashioned her body and her Ka upon his potter’s wheel. But I had carried her and I had brought her into the world through my loins and I was proud. Not for a moment did I think it a pity that she was not male. She was herself, and she was perfect.

When I had been washed and dressed in a fresh robe and installed on a day-bed with the new little princess in my arms, Inet came in. She looked at her doubtfully. “Better it had been a boy, seeing that the Pharaoh is not strong,” she remarked.

“There will be time for boys,” I said furiously. “She is beautiful. She is a gift from Khnum.”

The milk rushed plentifully into my tender breasts and I insisted on feeding her myself for the first few weeks, although Inet disapproved. In the core of my body something clenched like a fist when the baby suckled and I sensed that it was good, that it was right.

But I could not keep on for long. I had to agree to a wet nurse taking over. Since I was already shouldering a portion of my husband’s many tasks even then, only one year into his reign, inevitably my child was taken to the palace nursery to be brought up with the other palace children. Soon Inet had come to adore the child and cared for her devotedly.

I began to conduct interviews in the small audience chamber. One morning the young Nubian whose life I had begged from the Pharaoh arrived to see me.

He strode in confidently and made a deep obeisance. He had now been a pupil of the palace school for about six months and he had already, I thought, grown taller and filled out.

“Majesty,” he said.

“Arise,” I said. “I know who you are, but I do not know your name.”

“Khani,” he told me, rising and standing very straight, with something wrapped in linen in his hands. “I came to thank Your Majesty. I know that I owe the Great Queen my life. It is yours to command, and will always be.”

I smiled a little at his earnestness, yet I was touched. “If you live to serve Egypt, I shall be well content,” I said.

“I serve Your Majesty above all,” he insisted. “I always will.”

“I thank you,” I said, although I could not think what he might do for me. He would surely become a soldier, I imagined. “Will you go to Memphis, to be trained?” I asked.

“After I have had more schooling,” he assented. “Then, yes, I must go to Memphis. I would like to become a standard bearer.”

“A noble ambition.”

He stood, silent and slightly awkward for a few moments. Then he went down on one knee and held out the object in his hands. “I have brought a gift, for the new princess,” he said. “I made it for her. I wish it could have been gold, but it is only wood.”

I took the gift from his outstretched hands and folded the linen wrappings back. It was a small bowl, beautifully carved and polished, with handles in the shape of birds sitting on the rim. The wood was a dull golden colour with dark brown whorls in it. “Oh, it’s lovely!” I exclaimed. “You have the hand of an artist. I am sure that she will use it one day, and she will love it.”

He looked gratified.

After that he came every few months until he left for Memphis, always with something for Neferure: sometimes a basket of fruit, or flowers, or another small item carved from wood or marble. It was almost as if he sensed that she had played a role in his escape from death. We began to have longer conversations as he mastered our tongue, and I valued his comments. It was interesting to hear the views of someone looking at our land as an outsider. He had a keen and most perceptive understanding. I would miss him, I thought, when he went away.

Neferure bloomed. I insisted that she be given precedence as the first-born of the Great Royal Wife. This did not sit well with Isis, my husband’s concubine, who had given him a son some six years previously when he was still the Crown Prince. That son, of course, was Thutmose, that one who would be King. But I was adamant and I got my way.

I saw Neferure often; Inet would bring her to play in my rooms, and when she was old enough she loved to be told stories. She was a good child and a loving one, a true child of the sun.

When Neferure was one, something happened to Inet that made her left leg lazy and her left hand weak. She was in bed for some weeks, but recovered and learned to walk with a stick. It was clear that Neferure would need someone with more strength to look after her. It was then that my husband suggested that we should appoint Senenmut as her nurse and tutor. He had been my steward for some time, and he had acquitted himself well. He already loved the little princess; he explained to me that he was the eldest of a large brood of children and had been accustomed to helping his mother cope with the little ones. Neferure adored him from the start. So the appointment was made, and it suited everyone.

Here endeth the seventh scroll.                      

Yesterday when Pharaoh gave the latest scroll into my keeping and I left the palace, I had that feeling of chill on the nape of my neck that accompanies the presence of inimical eyes. I felt that I was being watched and followed. The scroll was tucked under my tunic top into a little inner pocket I had my slave sew for me. I would not be so foolish as to carry it in plain sight. I did however carry a couple of ordinary scrolls together with the implements of my trade in a linen bag, and I had taken the trouble to write down a list of instructions to be delivered to the clerks of the Royal Granary, as if that had been the purpose of my visit to the King.

I would not go home, I thought. Let me first see if I can flush out the mangy dog sniffing at my heels. I forced myself to stroll as if I had no cares and betook myself to a tavern near the waterfront where I ordered beer. A slave brought water for me to cleanse my hands and then provided a small bowl of salty roasted lotus seeds designed to increase one’s thirst. It was a popular watering-hole and there was much chatter and laughter.

Within minutes a stranger had slipped into the chair facing mine on the opposite side of the small table. At least, I took him for a stranger, and one with too little acquaintance with bathing at that. He had lost an eye and an ugly gash across his cheek on the same side drew his mouth up in a permanent grimace. His head was shaven, his tunic scruffy and stained. But when he spoke, I realised that I knew him. It was one Ahmose, who had been in the same class as I was at the temple school for scribes.

“Good day, my brother,” he said. “I see it goes well with you, since you have the King’s ear. Better with you than with me, I fear.”

“Good day to you, Ahmose,” I said, to show that I had recognised him. “Will you have a beer?”

He accepted with alacrity. I bade a slave bring some bread and dates also, and the manner in which Ahmose devoured the food when it came proved that I had been correct in my surmise that he was hungry.

“Have you been following me? How do you know I have the King’s ear?”

He nodded, flushing slightly. “I caught sight of you outside the palace,” he explained through a mouthful of bread. “I thought I would presume on our old acquaintance.” Although he looked like a ruffian, he spoke like the educated man I knew him to be. His single eye, brown and somewhat bloodshot, looked at me pleadingly. “I seek work,” he said. “You know that I am capable. But nobody wants to employ a scribe who looks like me.”