Words he said last evening reverberate in my mind now. He’d whispered a single, startling sentence after hours of poring through papyri on the laws dictating to whom the throne should pass on the death of a pharaoh when the ruler hasn’t selected his successor. When we learned the answer isn’t clear, Senenmut had said, “Maatis the purview of the gods’ representative here on earth, Your Majesty. Only that person can presume to know what is best for Egypt, whether answering the question of who should rule or how our country should be ruled. As daughter of Thutmose the First and wife of Thutmose the Second, you are close to the divine,but”—here he paused, as if summoning his courage—“as the God’s Wife of Amun,you are one with themaat, one with the divine. Who better than you to steer the course of Egypt’s future?”
Who better than me to steer the course of Egypt’s future?Those words surge through me now, as I stare out at this sea of sycophants, so-called scholars, smug priests, and entitled wealthy. Certainly they don’t understand how to run a kingdom better than I. Certainly the male infant from my husband’s harem they’d select to sit on the throne would not be a worthier choice than the daughter of the great Thutmose I. Or my daughter.
I stand. For a long moment, only my mother seems to notice. Not that she moves, of course; I only see her gaze shift out of the corner of my eye. But I don’t dare glance directly at her, as my next steps exceed even her reach and ambition.
The men continue to debate without a single pause. They spew out their positions over and over, using only paltry explanations to attempt to hide their obvious lunges at power.
“Thutmose the Third is the rightful next pharaoh. He’s the eldest son of Thutmose the Second, the most eligible in the Thutmoside line and thus closest to the gods,” one particularly insufferable priest says for the hundredth time. “How can we entertain any other option?”
“There is no law—divine or human—which says that the eldest son of the pharaoh must be the next one. And it’s nonsensical when that son is an infant and when his mother isanythingbut royal,” a lavishly dressed royal says with a sniff. “I think we can all agree thatthe maternal bloodline is crucial, although admittedly not as crucial as the father’s. Can we really allow a baby to sit on the throne, particularly when his mother is not even an ornament of the pharaoh? When she’s in the harem?”
“Are you advocating for a pharaoh from an entirely different bloodline? Perhaps someone from Thutmose the First’s predecessor, Amenhotep?” the general says, seething, then adds, “Which, if I’m not mistaken, is the bloodlineyouare from?”
At this veiled threat, the guards lining the chamber stand at attention. I cannot allow this dispute to proceed, and I think again about Senenmut’s question:Who better than you to steer the course of Egypt’s future?
“Silence,” I yell, and the fighting ceases immediately. Their faces display shock, and, abashed, the men fall to their knees in obeisance.
I pace the length of the royal dais, letting them stay on their knees for a long, long moment. I want them to remember who is their current ruler before I speak. My next words must be well received.
“I speak to you now not as the Great Queen of Thutmose the Second or the daughter of Thutmose the First, but as the God’s Wife of Amun.” I use my most commanding voice, and a complete hush overtakes the room. “As such, I have been gifted with a vision.”
I motion for the men to stand. I want them to see my face as I describe this miracle. “While I was in Thebes to serve in the Great Festival, the statue of Amun made its procession toward itsbiayt. As the priests carried the veiled statue out of its sanctuary and throughout Thebes in search of the festival miracle, Amun directed them to take it this way and that, until it reached the western gates of the royal palace. I sensed the god’s presence and ran from my chambers, through the gates, and toward the statue. The crowds parted as I threw myself on the ground in front of the veiled god. I asked him, ‘What is it that you desire? I will do everything that you command.’”
A subtle murmur spreads throughout the men, and I know they are sharing the rumors they’ve heard about that day, which transpired two seasons ago. The kingdom had been abuzz with speculation about what important message Amun sent me that day. I’d purposely kept quiet on the matter, suspecting that a day like todaymight come—when I might have need of a divine pronouncement. I stare at the men until silence reigns again.
“I lifted the veil”—I pause as I say this, reminding all of them that I alone may lift the veil of the sacred statue of Amun—“and the god spoke to me when I entered the sacred trance. His divine revelation was thus: ‘Hatshepsut, you alone are closest to me, and you alone can ensuremaatfor the Egyptian people in the times of tumult ahead. Soon, your country will need you, and you must rise up and help lead a unified Egypt, not as a Thutmoside wife and daughter but asmyqueen and daughter.’”
The men are immobile at this most unorthodox pronouncement. Are they motionless with shocked fury or awe? Does it even matter? Because no one can question the words of Amun delivered to the one permitted to speak to him.
“I did not understand the meaning of Amun’s words until now. I stand before you as the new regent queen, the one who will stand beside whomever is selected as our new pharaoh to guide and support him as Amun has ordered. I will be the one to help bestowmaaton behalf of Amun and the pantheon of gods. Until our new pharaoh is ready.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
1475BC
THEBES,EGYPT
“Your Majesty?” the plainly dressed, gray-haired woman asks hesitantly. I hear my name, but the heat is thick and viscous and my exhaustion impenetrable. I don’t even know which Hatshepsut I should summon. In any given day, I embody so many roles.
Each day, I start as Amun’s divine wife, rising before the sun to greet him. I then transform into Neferure’s mother, breaking my fast with her before she begins her daily studies. The demands of regent for Thutmose III then overtake me; and alongside viziers and officials, I make countless decisions regarding the finances, governance, and rule of our land. Ensuring the proper instruction of Thutmose III comes into play periodically throughout the day, and I assume my role of his stepmother as I check on his language, writing, history, religion, charioteering, and battle-training lessons. And now, at day’s end, I must open my throne room to the people, both elite and peasant, to become their queen, answering their questions and giving them the opportunity to see the divine on earth.
By the time the sun begins to set each day, I am weary. Will there ever come a time when I can lay down my duties and simply be Hatshepsut? Do I even know who she is anymore? I banish these questions from my mind. I know they are ill-befitting my station. It doesn’t matter what I want and need, what matters is the gods’ will for Egypt and my efforts to manifest their will.
Senenmut clears his throat, and I answer the supplicant. She simply wants to make an offering on behalf of her village. I invite theolder woman to come close to the throne with her basket of goods. I am buoyed by her energy and goodwill, her stories of her grandchildren and family farm along the Nile. The wealthy petitioners in line tsk at this familiarity, but I ignore them. If I am not working toward a better Egypt forallmy people, then what purpose do I serve?
This pleasant moment is interrupted by a phalanx of generals marching into the throne room as if it belongs to them. I stiffen at this presumptuousness, but say nothing. My beloved father was once a general, I remind myself, and if the rumors are true, he was every bit as bold and brash as the military men standing before me. In his memory, I stay quiet.
They kneel.
Without rising or lifting his eyes from the floor, the general says, “Your Majesty, deepest apologies for interrupting your general audience. If the situation in Kush was not urgent, I would not have presumed.”
At least he’s acknowledging his breach of protocol, I think,because sometimes these male military leaders don’t feel the need for the formalities with me, even though I’m the queen regent.“What is this Kush situation?” I ask, immediately worried. Ever since my father conquered their lands, the Kush people have bristled at our rule.
“Another uprising, Your Majesty. Shall we use the same approach the pharaoh chose with the last uprising?”
I flinch at the reference to this action, which Thutmose II suggested but I authorized. I vowed to myself that such violence would not happen again. I know I must keep this land that my father fought so hard to fold into Egypt, especially because it is rich in precious minerals. But surely, there is another way.
I need to think. Without the eyes of these men upon me. Without the pressure of the needs of thousands of unseen Egyptian citizens upon me. Without the specter of Kush looming over me.
