Bringing the scroll close to the lantern, I realized that theatefcrown was only one unusual feature of Sobkneferu’s attire. Although Sobkneferu wore the traditional linen gown of a queen, on top of that garb, she had layered ashendyt, the shorter kilt-like skirt worn only by men. Theatefworn with ashendytwas practically a formal proclamation that the wearer is pharaoh.
I reached for his free hand, clasping it tight. “She’s dressed as only a pharaoh can dress.”
“Yes,” he answered with a smile.
“Yet, in this document, she’s not proclaiming herself to be a pharaoh—even though she’s wearing the kingly crown and garment,” I said, confused at this dichotomy.
“Indeed,” Senenmut said, pleased rather than perplexed by this curiosity. “It seems she is preparing her people for her eventual kingship.”
The genius of Sobkneferu’s approach dawned upon me. “Ah, shebegan by preparing the populace for her kingship with her appearance. Nothing so bold as a proclamation, just theatefand ashendytand the people’s inferences. A visual statement.”
“Exactly. By the time she became known as Pharaoh Sobkneferu—a name she took because of its allusion to the crocodile god, Sobek, symbol of pharaonic power—the people had gotten used to the idea of her as pharaoh. Bit by bit.”
“You have found the way,” I said, reaching for his free hand.
He squeezed my hand back, and his eyes lingered on mine. My cheeks burned hot, thinking back to that moment in the wardrobe, as he said, “No, Hatshepsut.Wehave.”
Smiling at the memory—the sheer glory I felt at that discovery—I banish the flutter of nerves that begins to mount as I prepare to step out into the celebration. As the gods-chosen representative, I shouldn’t be anxious to open the Opet festival. But today, I will doing much more than commencing the annual multiday celebration of the tie between Egypt’s leader and Amun, one that starts with Amun’s sacred statue being transported on a special barque to another temple and culminates in the ceremony of rebirth, not just of Amun but also of the pharaoh. The ritual is meant to reestablish divine rule. Today, I will perform all these crucial rites—as pharaoh.
How will the citizens react to my proclamation, one I’ll be making with my crown and clothes rather than my words? How will those royal families who already pose a threat respond? Will this maneuver serve as the message of unwavering power that Senenmut and I have planned?
Balancing the crown as best I can, I straighten my wig and theshendytI wear over my gown. Then I leave the dark sanctuary of the Temple of Ipet-Sut where I have bathed Amun’s statue with blessed water and dressed him in linens and jewels for the journey to the Temple of Ipet-Resyt, which I’ve been building up. This is also on the east side of the Nile, where the final stage in this renewal ceremony will take place. Stepping out into the blinding light of the midday sun, I have to resist the urge to cover my eyes and then ears when I hear the cacophony of the thousands who’ve assembled to watch this procession of the god and pharaoh. Except, today, the only pharaoh they’ll see is me.
The beating of drums and the shaking of sistrums reverberates throughout the vast temple square, drowning out any reaction the people might have to my appearance. I take my place in front of the ceremonial barque made of Lebanese cedar and covered in gold leaf, with rams’ heads on the prow and stern, upon which the priests have placed Amun’s statue. Holding a bowl of fragrant incense in my hands—meant to sweeten Amun’s journey—I begin to walk.
The citizens of Thebes part as our procession passes down the Path of the Gods, the long avenue connecting the Temple of Ipet-Sut and the Luxor temple. As we advance past enormous sphinxes, we stop at the stations assembled for this ceremony—six of which I erected myself—each designed to placate and honor Amun. At the temporary shrine set up for the fourth station, I help facilitate the ritual to symbolically cool Amun’s oars, and then I lead the participants onward, wafting incense into the air.
We are a long and sinuous line of priests, musicians, and servants carrying the barque, but the crowds match our movement. They are freed from their daily labors in the fields by the beginning of the Nile’s flood season, and so the Opet festival is a cornerstone in their lives and cause for excitement. They bob alongside us at the distance maintained by my guards, and yet they are close enough for me to hear them speak to one another.
“Why is thehemet neswtwearing the crown and skirt of theneswt?”I overhear one woman ask another. She refers to me ashemet neswtbecause our language has no distinct word for queen, only wife, orhemet, of the pharaoh, orneswt. I am not surprised that a woman rather than a man noticed the singularity of my attire today.
But I hear no outrage, no accusations of blasphemy. No calls for my banishment, or worse. Not yet. Is it possible they don’t realize the magnitude of my message? Does the woman I overheard think I’ve made a mistake in my dress today? After all, the average woman has rights in our society—to run businesses, inherit, own land, choose their partners, bring and defend a lawsuit, work as a farmer, sell products and produce—but there is no allowance for her to serve as a public leader.
These questions roil my mind throughout the many hours of ourprogress to the Temple of Ipet-Resyt. By the time we pass through the hall and arrive at the vast stone doors to the temple, the daylight has begun to wane, and I have reached a decision. I wish I had the opportunity to discuss it with Senenmut, but there is no time. I must act now.
I climb the platform built to the right of the temple doors and call out to the people. “In a moment, I will enter this temple, the place of the First Occasion, and perform the ceremony in which Amun is reborn each year and bestows his ka under your leaders and the Nile valley.”
The crowd erupts in cheers, and I think how fortuitous my role as God’s Wife of Amun has been. Not only has it provided me with access to my own source of power and priestly allies, but it created the perfect argument these past few years that I alone should lead and perform the ceremonies at the Opet festival, because they are akin to the rituals I undertake daily for Amun. This position allows me to stand here today by myself.
I lift my hand to signal the bevy of servants assembled to one side of the throngs. Lifting an enormous stone tablet, they march toward my platform and stand it up, so that all can see. “I dedicate this relief to the Great God Amun and to all of you,” I say, staring over at the royal families seated in a separate section of the square.
Carved into the surface of the limestone block is an image of me. Wearing theatefcrown and theshendyt, I kneel before the image of Amun, wearing his characteristic two tall plumes and holding the ankh in one hand. The god’s other hand is raised over me in unmistakable blessing. Gesturing to the sculpture, I announce, “I stand here before you in theatefand theshendytprecisely as Amun himself instructed me—and with his blessings.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
1474 BC
THEBES, EGYPT
With great effort, I slow my pace as I descend from the platform and step into the cool, dark interior of the temple. I want to race down the hallowed corridors and whoop with delight and relief. Today, I’ve taken the first public step toward becoming pharaoh.
But I do not leap and run or squeal. I maintain the deportment of the Amun-consecrated figure I’ve just announced myself to be. Suppressing my restless elation, I stand stock-still while Nedjem takes theateffrom my head and reverentially places it on its stand. I move nary a muscle as the other servants unbuckle theshendytand slide the wig from my head. Until I am left standing bareheaded, naked of jewels and adornments except for my fine linen shift.
A knock sounds at the door, and for a moment, the servants don’t move. I am meant to be preparing for the great ceremony in which Amun will renew his vows to his people and his earth. It is a sacred space and moment, and the rites require that no one interrupt it.
But I suspect it might be the very person I most want to see.
I nod to Nedjem, who lifts her eyebrows in surprise. As she opens the thick stone door a sliver, I see Senenmut’s distinctive profile. My heart pounds more quickly, and I issue the command. “He may enter.”
