“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he says with a low bow.
“Yes indeed.” My mother echoes my compliment. We are both sidestepping the unspoken question that brought Djau here.
“My deepest gratitude for your kind words, Queen Ahmes,” hesays, but his mouth has not yet closed. He is weighing his next words with great care. “I simply want to make certain that the composition meets your expectations.”
I study the central carving. On the left, Thutmose II and I stand side by side making offerings to the gods. The more typical presentation would have me as smaller or lower than Thutmose II; hierarchical scale—where the size of figures denotes their power and importance—is key in art. But I want the stela to reflect my power, and so I made this unusual request. But I also need to establish that Thutmose II’s legacy is beyond dispute, not only from his own direct tie to Thutmose I but also mine. We must always be prepared for threat by relatives of my father’s predecessor Amenhotep I.
My mother squints as she stares at it, and I cannot tell if she’s trying to examine it more closely or if she’s disapproving. The expression is the same. I open my mouth, about to issue an edict about the propriety of this image, when a voice sounds from behind Djau’s men who are holding up the stela. Presumably it is the next supplicant in line.
“If I may approach the dais, Your Majesties, I believe that I can draw your artist’s attention to precedent for the composition, so that no one will ever dare question the queen’s wishes.” The deep, resonant voice echoes throughout the chamber.
I am surprised by this interjection. Very few of my citizens would have the audacity to upend the order of my audience chamber. But I am also intrigued by this man who would risk punishment to protect me and my desires—even though a queen hardly needs her citizens’ protection.
Not to mention I would like to hear about his precedent. Certainly I have seen renderings where a queen is depicted as the same size and on the same level as her king—and in a few cases the gods—but the more examples I have at my disposal the better. It would allow me to refute any objections—by Thutmose II, by his family, by court members desirous of sowing division, by priests, or even by citizens—that this stela presents a queen on the same level—literally and figuratively—as her pharaoh.
I nod at Nedjem, who calls out, “Queen Hatshepsut grants you permission to approach.”
Keeping his eyes on the limestone floor, the man walks down theaisle toward the thrones. Djau steps to the side to allow the barrel-chested, unusually tall man in simple robes to stand before us. He drops to his knees, and says, “My name is Senenmut, son of your loyal subjects Ramose and Hatnofer, and I am an official from the town of Armant. I came to the open audience today to put before Your Majesty an issue related to the raising of funds for Thutmose the Second’s mortuary project, but then I overheard your discussion.”
“So it seems, and you deemed it proper to interrupt,” my mother comments, her tone dry and impatient. “Are you going to share these wondrous insights about ‘precedent’ with us?”
“Of course, Your Majesty, it would be my honor.” He rushes to answer. “As part of my work, I travel widely, and not only throughout my own region. I have the occasion to visit many temples in addition to our own Temple of Montu-Re and so have become familiar with the carvings elsewhere—”
“We are well acquainted with our country’s temples,” my mother snaps.
Senenmut doesn’t flinch at this outburst. I am impressed. There aren’t many citizens who could maintain their composure in the face of my mother’s disdain. I find myself asking, “What have you discovered in these carvings that would be beneficial to me?”
“For my own purposes, I have catalogued the most impressive stelae and monuments, and there are several examples of queens being depicted as the same size as the pharaoh.”
This news heartens me. “This is most interesting,” I announce. “And helpful.”
His forehead now touches the floor in a position of abject loyalty and deference. “Your Majesty, it has been my life’s honor to serve you in this way.”
“Djau, I would like this man to take you to see these carvings he has catalogued, and if they are as he represents, then you may proceed with its installation.
“I am the queen, and I know that I do not need anyone’s approval for the composition I’ve ordered. Certainly not from Djau and certainly not from one of my citizens. But having this precedent at my disposal can only help with my plans.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
I face the other man. “What is your name again?”
“Senenmut, Your Majesty.”
“Senenmut.” I pause.How apt is his name, I think, as it means “mother’s brother” and suggests loyalty, which he has clearly demonstrated today. I could put this loyalty to good use in my court.
Turning to this man, I say, “After you finish taking Djau to the temples, please return to Thebes with your belongings. The gods have need of you here.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
1479BC
THENILERIVER,EGYPT
I stare out over the bow of my barge. The Nile is unusually placid today, reflecting the lapis lazuli sky like the polished disk of bronze on my dressing table. The still waters, while lovely, echo the equally still air and slow our progress, as we’d counted on the typical autumn breeze to put loft in our vast sail. Our prayers to Ra hadn’t borne fruit, and now, we must be pulled by the boats that progress alongside us.
Sailors hitch the barge to the thirty boats bobbing beside my one-hundred-cubit-long vessel, and soon they’ll begin to row us along. Their boats look tiny in comparison to the mass of my newly built barge. I’d ordered its construction so that obelisks and large stone statues for Thutmose II’s memorial—and perhaps mine, one day—might be transported with greater ease. This is its inaugural voyage, and despite my advisers’ wishes to the contrary, I have insisted on joining.
Rising from the small gilt throne affixed to the cedar floor of my second-level deckhouse, I watch as mud-brick houses and the riverbanks begin to pass by with increasing speed. I feel the syncopated chant of the men oaring in unison:“Hela hop, hela hop, hela hop.”
