The Double Crown: Secret Writings of the Female Pharaoh (25 page)

“Senenmut,” I said, “enough discussion. Show me! Why are you so nervous? It is not like you.”

“Because, Majesty,” he answered, “it is unlike any other temple ever built, except to some degree that of Mentuhotep. It is a design such as the Kingdom of the Two Lands has never seen before. And I have put my heart into it. I am afraid to show Your Majesty.” Truly, he was most anxious.

“Show me!”

He took a deep breath and flung the covering aside.

For some moments I stood perfectly still, staring at it. I said not a word. The silence lengthened.

“Majesty,” he said, miserably. “Pharaoh is displeased? Perhaps Pharaoh would have preferred a series of tall pylons, leading to a hypostyle hall, enormous pillars crowned with lotuses, and …”

“Be quiet,” I said. I walked around the table. I saw, indeed, a unique design. It had elements of the old ruin, but it was much grander in scope and it fulfilled my wish that it would dominate the plain. There were three wide porticos fronting broad terraces on different levels, rising gradually from the plain up to where the God’s sanctuary would be, deep inside the tall cliffs behind it, hewn out of the Theban rock. The terraces were linked by imposing open-air stairways, dividing the structure into northern and southern halves and leading up to the sanctuary. Its proportions were magically harmonious.

He waited, seeming to hold his breath.

“It is perfect,” I said. “It is exquisite.”

He sighed deeply with relief and kneeled to kiss the floor in front of my feet. I put out my hand and drew him up. Pharaoh does not lightly touch a subject, but this was a special occasion. “Do not kneel,” I said. “It is I that must kneel to the creator of such beauty.”

He bent his head and raised my hand to his lips. His eyes were fixed on mine. He kissed my fingers. It was as if some of his life force passed into me. I had trouble breathing.

Then I took possession of my hand again, taking a backward step. “Explain,” I said, “explain the way it will be laid out.”

He picked up a wooden pointer tipped with ivory. “As Majesty ordered,” he said, “the temple will be dedicated to Amen.” I noted that the pointer was trembling.

“My heavenly father, yes.” So was my voice.

“Therefore, the main sanctuary will be intended for the secret rites and rituals of Amen. But, since the site is a holy place inhabited by Hathor, there will be a chapel dedicated to the goddess.”

“Excellent. On the walls we can show how the goddess suckled me. Here.” I stepped forwards again. Our shoulders brushed. He let his arm rest against mine. It was warm. It was as if his life force hummed beneath his skin. We both pretended not to notice.

“There will be smaller shrines within, dedicated to the blessed memory of Pharaoh’s ancestors, other gods, and the Pharaohs Thutmose the First and Second, may they live.”

“May they live.”

Desperately, his hand sought mine and our fingers entangled. My hand clung to his. My knees were shaking. I could hear his breathing, fast and uneven.

“There will be long colonnades,” Senenmut continued, after a pause, “with plenty of wall space to record Your Majesty’s deeds and the chief events of Your Majesty’s reign.”

My reign. Yes, I thought. I am the Pharaoh. I withdrew my hand and stepped away from him. “The records should begin with the record of my divine birth,” I said, flatly. “And my coronation must be shown.”

“Of course. I shall so instruct the artists.” He sighed. “And here, Majesty, there will be a chapel dedicated to Anubis.”

Anubis. On the walls of that chapel I would depict myself making offerings to the jackal-headed god, who supervises the weighing of one’s heart in the Netherworld. That should stand me in good stead when the day of reckoning came. “Most appropriately.”

“The columns, as Your Majesty sees, may be square or rounded, but uncrowned. No lotuses.”

“Good. I like the pure lines.”

At this his tense face relaxed into a smile. “The uppermost level will be a hypostyle hall with twenty-four square-cut pillars faced by painted statues of King Ma’atkare looking out across the Nile. Majesty’s mortuary chapel will be located on the south side of the upper courtyard, here.” He pointed. “It will be a vaulted chamber, with a doorway in the rear wall leading to the realm of the Afterlife.”

“Excellent. Now, in front, as one approaches …”

“There will be an avenue,” he said, “linking the temple with the old Valley Temple on the Nile. Lined with rows of sphinxes, each with the body of a lion and the head of the Pharaoh. The king of the beasts and the king of men united in one powerful creature. I have not yet made models of these, in case Your Majesty did not approve.”

“Pharaoh does approve,” I said. “I think it is an exceptionally striking concept.”

“Then Pharaoh’s servant is happy.”

I walked around the model once again. “It will be perfect for the Feast of the Valley,” I said. “When we bring the god Amen from Karnak to the Valley Temple in the second month of summer. I often think of the dark and secret shrine where the God lives and I suspect it must be lonely.”

Senenmut agreed: “I too have thought it. With only the priests who ever come near, to carry out the daily rituals and bring the offerings. A lonely existence.”

“But we will bring the God out of the gloom into the brilliant sun and transport him across the Nile to spend the night with Hathor at Djeser-Djeseru.”

“One night of joyous feasting,” he said, smiling in delight. “And the populace will take part, and they will be amazed at the glorious temple raised up for Pharaoh Hatshepsut. It will be a memorable feast, in a magnificent setting.”

I nodded. “Pharaoh is greatly pleased,” I told him. I stood gazing at the model, musing. “How long will it take, do you think?”

“Many years,” he said. “It is a huge undertaking. But I will do the best I can to complete it as soon as possible.”

“Well, if the completion is to be well into my reign, I think one more element might be added,” I said.

He frowned. “Added?”

“Yes. Here, at the bottom of the first flight of steps.”

“What should be added?”

“A pair of obelisks, similar to those ordered for my coronation. I greatly favour obelisks. They should be hewn from white marble. The highlights of my reign should be inscribed upon them. They should …”

“No,” said Senenmut.

I stared at him. “No? No!”

“No, Majesty, I do not agree. Such strong added verticals would upset the balance of the design. Obelisks would look out of place.”

“They would look majestic,” I said.

“The cliffs are majestic,” said Senenmut. “Against that backdrop, obelisks would appear puny.”

“I am sure you are mistaken. I think the design requires obelisks.”

“I will not add them,” said Senenmut. He closed his lips in a thin line.

“You will do as I say or I will put Hapuseneb in charge of this project!”

“As Your Majesty wishes.”

“You forget yourself. I made you. I can unmake you. I’ll relegate you to the ranks of junior scribes! Then what will you do?”

“Go back to Iuny,” said Senenmut. “I have property there. I can live peacefully raising vegetables. And, perhaps, children.”

“I will confiscate your farm,” I raged. “I will hang you head downwards from the walls of Thebes! I am Pharaoh!”

“Yes, Majesty,” he said, tiredly. “If my life is worth no more than a pair of obelisks, so be it.” He knelt at my feet.

I looked down at his thick dark hair. The tide of anger that had coursed through me receded. My heart reproached me. I wanted to reach out and draw him to his feet. In truth, I wanted to be taken into his arms and kissed again, not on my hand but on my lips. But I was Egypt and it could not be.

I stepped nearer to the model. “Are you sure they would look puny?”

“Certain, Majesty.”

“Very well, then. You are the architect. Do as you please.”

“Thank you, Majesty.”

I swept out of his office. He should not see the tears that burned in my eyes. Tears of anger, of course. No, he should not see the Pharaoh weep.

Here endeth the thirteenth scroll.                      

THE FOURTEENTH SCROLL

The reign of Hatshepsut year 8

Looking back over my life there was one event that changed everything. There was the time before and the time after, and they were entirely different. Before it happened, I was strong, I was resilient; I marched forward, there was nothing that I could not overcome. I felt fortunate. Afterwards I had to muster my strength. I felt vulnerable, like one who has had a terrible illness and has lost some deep-seated vitality that will never return. I was no longer sure that I was the chosen of the gods. If the record I am making here is to be complete, I must write of it, but it is hard to do. Yet I have vowed to tell the truth and write of it I must.

It was Senenmut who first noticed that there was something seriously wrong with Neferure. They were always close, since he had been her tutor before his duties became too onerous and his half-brother Senimen replaced him. However, by the time she fell ill she no longer had a tutor, for she was fourteen years old and a great help to me as Pharaoh. Inet, who had been her nurse, was sixty years old and half blind by then, or she would have warned me. I was deeply involved with building plans at the time and the signs of danger escaped me.

Perhaps Neferure herself had a presentiment. She came to my office in the administrative palace one day, as if she were one of my subjects rather than my daughter. “Mother, I wish to talk to you,” she said. “Seriously.”

“Yes, my child?” I was reading a scroll with lists of materials and checking the costs, which seemed exorbitant.

“I want you to listen.”

“I always listen to you, dear.”

“No, really listen. Hear me, Mother.”

I looked up, frowning. “Is there a problem?”

“Mother,” she said, twisting the edge of her robe nervously, “am I never to be married? Am I only to be the God’s Wife of Amen all my life?”

I set the scroll aside and sighed. This was a most problematic issue and I had put off thinking about it for too long. “It is a great honour to be the God’s Wife,” I observed. “By taking part in the daily rituals, you support the Pharaoh in ensuring the survival and the well-being of Khemet.”

“I know that, Mother. But since one must remain pure, it is a lonely life. Never to break the jar with any man, never to bear a child … A lonely prospect.”

“Is there a … a particular man that you have met, to make you feel like this?”

“No, Mother. I do not meet many men, except for the priests, and they all revere me as the God’s Wife. It just seems to me …”

“Yes?”

“My life is passing,” she said, in a rush. “My life is passing, Mother. When you were my age you had already borne me. Yet I am barren and likely to remain so.” There were tears in her eyes. “I would like a child,” she said. “Of my own.”

“My dear, we need to give this matter some thought.”

“There is Thutmose,” she suggested, “my half-brother. I understand … that I am promised to him.”

“Who told you that?”

“There are … rumours.” Put about by the man himself, I thought furiously. She was a child when I made that promise to my late husband, may he live, and I had never mentioned it. I did not think it would be wise.

“He already has a wife,” I pointed out. I had, indeed, found him a wife when he was sixteen and went to Memphis to join the military. She was one Satioh, a lusty baggage who I reckoned would keep him further occupied and make him forget that he was betrothed to Neferure. I ordered a comfortable palace to be built for them near to the training grounds. Satioh, a plump, light-skinned Mitannian princess with a high colour, proved to be as fecund as the black silt of the Nile, but she brought forth girl children only, which pleased me. Lacking a son, I had plans for my Neferure, and younger girl children borne to Thutmose could not take precedence over her while a male child might.

“But multiple marriages are common in the royal house,” said Neferure, mulishly. “I would be the Great Royal Wife.” She knew this would anger me, and indeed it did.