He takes the unprecedented step of placing a hand on my arm. I do not think he’s ever touched me before. That is the province of my personal servants; family; and if he still lived, my husband.
“I’ve heard rumors of a plot against you,” he says.
“A plot? Here?” I am incredulous. Who would stage such a plot here, in our most sacred place, with its attendant, terrible risks?
“Here,” he hisses, his voice impatient and urgent. “We must away.”
My body slackens, and I allow him to lead me away without another word. I am no stranger to the specter of threats, mortal or otherwise. It comes with power. But who would darethis?
We wind through the warren of interior corridors connecting the rooms of the temple, until we are back in the palace. We step into a dimly lit room I’ve never entered before, and Senenmut closes the door behind us. It has the whitewashed walls of the rest of the palace, but instead of being decorated with a riot of color and imagery as is the case everywhere else, the room is completely plain, save for a bed, a desk, and rolls of papyri everywhere. The window to the courtyard has been covered with a wash of white linen.
“Is this your room?” I ask.
He nods, then gestures me to sit on the bed, so even my silhouette will not be visible through the shrouded window. I motion for him to join me, and as he moves toward the bed, he hesitates, visibly uncomfortable with this arrangement. The situation demands it.
In the quietest voice I can muster, I ask, “What did you hear?”
“One of my trusted informants overheard that an attempt on your life would be made during the morning ablutions,” he says, his voice unnaturally calm.
“Informants?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he murmurs. “I maintain a web of loyal soldiers and servants who listen very carefully and communicate concerns back to me in code.”
“Do you know who is responsible for this connivance?”
“No, Your Majesty. The plans were overheard but not the instigator.” He pauses, and I can see that he’s not certain he should say the rest.
“Senenmut?” I prompt him.
With a deep sigh, he says, “Idohave a suspicion, Your Majesty.”
“Is it people who don’t want me to be co-regent?” I say aloud my secret worry. Mother and I discussed this very real possibility before I even stepped in at Thutmose III’s side, but we’d seen no evidence of an uprising by factions holding that view.
“No, my little spies have heard nothing of that sort.”
“Who then?”
Maintaining a low tone, he forces the words out. “I suspect that the plot originated with another group of royals, those from one of a few family lines with tenuous claims to the throne. Lines that stretch back to the pharaoh who preceded your venerable father. Or even beyond.”
“Could it be the royal branch of the family stemming from my father’s predecessor, Amenhotep?” I seethe. “Amenhotep died without an heir; that is, of course, how my father became pharaoh. But Amenhotep does have living relatives, I suppose. Or perhaps the threat originated from relatives of Pharaohs Kamose or Taa the Second who preceded Pharaoh Ahmose, Amenhotep’s father.”
“Or a relation of Ahmose?” Senenmut suggests.
I immediately think of Mutnofret, Thutmose II’s mother, whose father was Ahmose. She and my mother had a fraught relationship as wives of Thutmose I, and neither my mother nor I were kind to her when Thutmose II ascended the throne. I regret that, for many reasons. But why would she plot against a reign that involved Thutmose III, her grandson? That would put him at great risk.
When I do not reply, he continues, “I wish I knew the source of this danger. And it pains me to even mention it, Your Majesty, but I’ve had my suspicions for some time; and every time one of theserelatives pledges their loyalty in your chamber, it sickens me.” The pain on his face is very real, but his words raise a question.
“Damn hypocrites,” I say. Then I ask, “Why have you said nothing until now?” I hate having to ask this question. But with a threat of this magnitude, everyone and everything must be viewed through a skeptical lens.
“Because, until now, it was only a suspicion. But now, with this threat and the timing, I am certain.”
“What timing?”
“Certain of these branches of royal families have sons coming of age this year and—” He hesitates.
“And?” I give him license to say that which he’d rather not.
“And a kingdom ruled by a six-year-old pharaoh and a female regent is perceived as weak. This would be the time for them to kill you and wrest control of the throne from the vulnerable child pharaoh. Then their own representative would be the ruler of Upper and Lower Egypt.” He cannot meet my eyes.
