“You are very well-informed,” Mr. Burton replies.
“Well, since I don’t have access to the formal education more and more Egyptologists seem to be getting these days, I must learn other ways. I use independent study, observation in the field, and conversations with experts like you.”
“And Mr. Carter, of course.”
“Especially Mr. Carter,” I add, wanting to leave the conversational niceties behind and move on to the reason I came—to tour the site again. “It must be wonderful to work with an expert like Mr. Winlock.”
“It is. But he’s not at the tomb of Meketre. That’s been cleared and studied. He’s in the hills examining the tomb of a royal servant called Meseh. Supposedly an intact papyrus has been found inside.”
“How exciting,” I remark. Such a find would indeed be noteworthy, as papyri rarely survive the millennia.
“Yes, we hope it proves meaningful. In the meantime, perhaps I could escort you around the temple complex so you can get a sense of the reconstruction efforts.”
“I would be very grateful.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Mr. Burton answers politely, as he leads me toward the first terrace. We pass groups of workers who are engrossed in the task of reassembling the statuary. Mr. Burton and I linger at each one, hazarding guesses about the identity of the figures. When I speculate that one partially reconstructed statueappears to have the head of a lion—and therefore may well be the powerful female goddess Sekhmet—Mr. Burton nods in surprised agreement.
When we reach the first terrace, I wander off by myself for a moment. Standing between two of the soaring columns, I stare out at the immense courtyard and ramp leading to the terrace, imagining what it would have been like to be Hatshepsut gazing upon her people. Did she ever find the burden of leadership daunting? Or was she so confident in her gods-given power to rule that she stood on this terrace with unwavering assurance?
How perfectly the temple is incorporated into the cliffside, I think as I take in the setting. The temple’s situation is emblematic of the way Hatshepsut herself was meant to be a sacred manifestation of her land. Even though this is a mortuary complex, and thus would have been fully unveiled only at the time of her death, it would have also served as a reminder of her divine authority during her lifetime.
I know the reliefs that have been reconstructed on the temple walls very well. Howard had made detailed sketches of them when he worked here and I’ve studied them. They tell Hatshepsut’s story, the one she needed to craft to support her pharaonic role, anyway. I pass a carving of her divine conception as a daughter of Amun, a justification for her claim to the throne. An image of Hatshepsut with her father, Thutmose I, demonstrates her royal lineage and the righteousness of her title. A wall relief detailing the success of her trade mission to Punt follows, which she displayed to show her prowess as pharaoh. Taken together, these exquisite images inform viewers that Hatshepsut’s reign was divinely and royally inspired—and a success. Certainly they exemplify the honorific bestowed upon Hatshepsut that runs underneath these reliefs: “In all her splendor.”
I linger at the more private images scattered around the temple, some on walls and some on pieces of stelae and statues yet to be reassembled. An exquisite wall etching of Hatshepsut and Thutmose II’s daughter, Neferure, resplendent in elaborate crown, topped with soaring bird. A relief of Senenmut—Hatshepsut’s “Great treasurer, architect, and chief steward to her daughter, Neferure”—adoring her,in an unusual example of a nonaristocratic person appearing in temple artwork. Amidst these images, I envision Hatshepsut as she might have been, surrounded by those she loved and loved her in return, and I suddenly feel her presence alive all around me.
“What an appropriately magnificent monument to a pharaoh with such a prosperous reign,” I say to Mr. Burton when he joins me, shaking my head in wonder. “I mean, she restored trade with Asia, ensured work and food and services for her people, created one of the most ambitious building plans of any pharaoh, and did it all without constant war.”
“You know quite a lot about Hatshepsut.” Mr. Burton nods approvingly.
“As I said, I don’t have access to formal training, so I cobble together bits and pieces wherever I can. Besides”—I pause and smile at this kind man—“Hatshepsut is a particular favorite.”
“I admire her as well”—he leans toward me, as if imparting a secret—“although I’m in the minority. The prevailing view around here is that she must have been an ambitious and ruthless woman to have climbed so high. Since women weren’t typically allowed power, she must have seized it through illicit means when her husband, Thutmose the Second, died and her stepson Thutmose the Third assumed the throne. That sort of thing. Why else would someone have wanted to scratch out every mention of her? She must have been unnatural, according to some. Or, at best, manipulated by her courtiers into assuming the throne.”
“Does Winlock think her co-regency with Thutmose the Third was somehow unlawful as well? Co-regencies with young pharaohs were very common in ancient Egypt,” I point out. “From there, assuming the mantle of the pharaoh wasn’t much of a leap.”
“Let’s just say that Winlock has trouble imagining a woman co-regent—or the idea that Hatshepsut could jump from co-regent to pharaoh without avarice and misdeeds,” he says with an apologetic tilt of his head. “I disagree.”
I’m not surprised by Mr. Winlock’s opinion, simply disappointed. I’d hoped that a scholar like him might see beyond the commonly held, narrow-minded views about woman rulers. I’d been optimisticthat he might embrace an understanding of Hatshepsut as a civic-minded, upstanding female leader with the blessing of her people.
We amble past more workers as we progress toward the second terrace. I hesitate when I see six of them gathered around several large granite pieces of statue, chatting excitedly. They stand before a stone elbow. The corner of a symbol of an ankh. A lone finger. The drape of clothing over a collarbone. A full half of a face framed by the very distinctive striped linennemes.
Suddenly, I can see how all the pieces fit together. And who is represented here.
“That’s Hatshepsut,” I exclaim. “It’s an image of her just as she transitioned from queen to pharaoh.”
Mr. Burton races to my side. “Are you sure? How do you know?”
I point to the granite half face. “Here, lying over the head, is thenemes, which only a pharaoh can wear. And yet”—I point to the stone fragment of clothing—“here you see that the figure is wearing female clothes. You can even see the swell of a breast. This kind of nod to her femininity disappears later in her reign when she embodies the full male pharaoh image.”
“My God, you’re right,” Mr. Burton says.
“There is imagery all over Egypt of Hatshepsut in her changing roles. She is depicted one way as a young princess, another as a queen, still another as a regent, and then finally as a pharaoh. Different clothes, different symbols of power, different physical features even, as she transitions.”
Mr. Burton is staring at me. “My goodness, Lady Evelyn, you should be working here instead of some of the so-called archaeologists we have on staff. You certainly know more.”
I smile at the kindly photographer.How I wish I could work here, among the many faces of Hatshepsut,I think. What insights I might be able to bring to the understanding of the great ruler. But these academics would never accept me. My only entrée into the world of ancient Egypt and Hatshepsut is through Papa—for however long that lasts before society claims me.
Two mustachioed men approach us, each in their stiff, European clothes. Mr. Burton calls out to them, “Mr. Lansing, Mr. Hauser, I ampleased to present Lady Evelyn Herbert to you. She’s come from the Valley of the Kings concession, the one excavated by her father, Lord Carnarvon, and Howard Carter.”
