“Your Majesty, one of the regions in the province of Kush is rebelling. We have heard rumors that they are secretly amassing forces to rise up against our military stationed there.”
“I see,” my husband says, although he doesn’t see anything. I wonder if he even understands precisely how recent our rule is in this bordering land.
“This is the region that Thutmose the First conquered only ten years ago. Is that correct, General?” I already know the answer, but I continue. “I recall that there was much rejoicing in Thebes because Kush contains a wealth of gold, ivory, and ebony.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, but that rejoicing was one-sided. Factions of the Kush people are resisting Egyptian rule, and the remnants of its army are planning to attack our soldiers,” the general says, by way of educating my husband.
“What course do you recommend?” my husband asks, not bothering to mask his impatience.
The general’s eyes widen. My father would never have requested the advice of his military men. The pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt is a god on earth, and, as such, needs only consult himself and the other gods. Thutmose has made a grave error.
My mother does not turn in my direction, but in the corner of my vision, I see her eyes shift toward me. She’s taught me well the art of remaining motionless while communicating privately. Her alarm registers with me, and I know I must act.
Before news of this misstep spreads throughout the court, I say, “Thutmose the Second will, of course, confer with his fellow gods as to the wisest path.”
I think, but do not say, that I will do everything in my power to ensure that my father’s legacy stays intact. Thutmose I extended the borders of Egypt farther than any king who’d ever come before him, and I have no intention of sacrificing a single cubit.
“And only that sacred dialogue shall dictate whether he is lenient with the people of Kush, or if he will order the slaughter of those involved in this plot.” I lay out the options for my husband. As the queen—even as the God’s Wife of Amun—I cannot express my own mind, but I can find other ways to effectuate my goals.
I hear the rustle of Thutmose II’s tunic and the gentle clanging of his gold girdle and breastplate as he shifts in his seat. Have I made him uncomfortable about his lassitude? Have I made him think? I hope so.
The hall is perfectly silent and still for a long moment—until Thutmose speaks. His voice sounds unusually authoritative. “Egypt will respond to Kush’s insolence as it would under the reign of my father. The rebellious citizens will be executed.”
The general’s expression is unchanged, but he does dare to ask, “Your Majesty, you would prefer that the insurgents be executed instead of brought to Thebes and enslaved? I just want to follow your orders precisely.”
Public enslavement is the normal course—a visible reminder to all our people that the might of the pharaoh prevails. But it is always the prerogative of the pharaoh as god on earth, and my father often chose a merciless message. I can recall, in vivid detail, the time Father ordered that the chief of a recalcitrant tribe be killed and his body displayed on the prow of the royal barge. He ordered that the barge travel the length of the Egyptian Nile—back and forth—to display the body until it stunk so badly our people could smell the barge’s arrival long before they saw it.
If Thutmose II issues this edict, he will be taking the punishment further than I envisioned. But my husband has been accused of weakness so often that I must be satisfied with this show of power, however excessive, or risk an uprising much, much closer to home.
I think of Neferure, my sweet, strong baby girl, and steel myself for her. With the rare exception of the God’s Wife of Amun, a woman’s power can only come through a man. If my daughter is to secure a safe place in Egyptian society, then her father must be strong. And I can see that ensuring the infallibility of Thutmose II will fall to me.
“General, are you daring to challenge the order of your pharaoh, Aakheperenre Thutmose the Second?” I ask.
For the first time since he stepped into this chamber, I see something like fear in the general’s eyes. “Of course not, Queen Hatshepsut.”
“Excellent. Then I am certain you will follow his orders—as they are also the will of the gods.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
1480BC
THEBES,EGYPT
“Your Majesty, we offer this artwork to you today for your approval,” Djau states, his typically steady, booming voice a little quieter and less forceful than usual.
Djau is the head of the largest and most prestigious artistic studio in the Egyptian kingdom—one that had been passed down from father to son for more generations than anyone could count—and I’ve always found him to be comfortable and steadfast in our dealings. The heavily bearded, ornately robed man in his third decade of life had managed the sculpture and painting for my father’s vast building enterprise, and his father had overseen the artwork for the pharaoh who preceded my father, and so he is well-trained in dealing with royalty and the demands of tradition. Yet today, Djau’s demeanor appears somewhat different. It seems my project has presented a fresh challenge.
“I could have seen the object once you have installed it. You needn’t have gone to the trouble of bringing it here,” I say. This particular monument will decorate the edifice of a mortuary structure that’s been under construction since the day Thutmose II ascended the throne. But, in truth, the idea for this commission is mine alone. It is no coincidence that I scheduled this appointment while my husband is on a hunting excursion.
“Well, Your Majesty.” He takes a deep breath. “As we began carving the design into the stone, certain less-than-common elements ofthe composition became clear,” he says, signaling his men assembled at the back of the audience chamber.
Ah,I think,how artful this man is in his speech as well as his chisel. Sculpture, painting, and carving are all created according to very specific precepts to best capture the magic, orheka, of the subject, and have been for thousands of years. Plants, flowers, animals, humans, kings, even gods are depicted with similar motifs, order, and outlines, in themes that are instantly recognizable to viewers as scenes from the afterlife, images of the pharaoh fulfilling his duties to the people and the gods, or daily Egyptian life. Even the pigments selected to color the carvings have specific meaning: black is affiliated with both life and death; green symbolizes the afterlife; yellow means the sun; blue translates to birth and renewal; and red indicates destruction or fire. Deviation from tradition simply is not done.
Djau’s servants begin walking down the long aisle approaching the throne, carrying an enormous rectangular stone slab. Although the men do not hesitate in their step, their arms tremble, and they are sweating at the exertion required to move this mass. Once they reach the dais, they stand the enormously heavy object upright so that it faces me and Mother, who sits at my side.
At nearly twice Thutmose II’s height, a vividly painted and sculpted limestone slab looms over us. My mother and I stand up from our thrones and draw closer to read the story from top to bottom and left to right or right to left, depending on the direction in which the subjects are facing. Intricate, expert carvings, organized into bands, emerge from the surface of the limestone to show Thutmose II offering his devotion to the god Amun, with me at his side.
“It is beautifully rendered.” I speak the truth. Although I know Djau’s vast staff is responsible for the initial carvings and ink outlines, the masterful painterly details and fine sculpture work are all done by his hand. And no one has more skill.
