1472BC
THEBES,EGYPT
I do not ask anyone’s permission but my own. Why should I? If I am indeed the ruler I proclaim myself to be, then only the gods can dictate my course. As far as I am concerned, Amun, lord of all the gods, has given me every indication that I am meant to be formally declared pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt. All signs and portents point to today as perfect for the first public event of my coronation year.
“Are you ready, my beloved?” Senenmut whispers to me in the temple dressing chamber once the servants have been shooed away. From the shadowy corner of the room, he’s been watching me get ready for the occasion, as the girls fluttered like tiger butterflies around me with kohl to line my eyes and red ocher for my cheeks and lips.
I stare at myself in the polished bronze mirror, hardly recognizing the person who stares back. The kohl-rimmed eyes and the flushed cheeks seem familiar, and even the masculine short wig has grown somewhat usual for me. But the false beard fashioned from gold and the stripednemesupon which the crown will be set during the coronation ceremony appears as though it belongs to someone else. A pharaoh.
Am I not meant to be the pharaoh? Why do I feel this sudden wave of apprehension? It seems as though believing the gods blessed my rule and their actually participating in the public coronation are two very different matters.
Turning away from the mirror and toward Senenmut, I answer, “Could any woman really be ready for a day such as this?”
He strides to my side, kneels before me, and as he kisses my hand, says, “My love and my pharaoh, you alone are ready for this day.”
“Am I?” I ask him, my voice quivering as I say aloud for the first time that which I’ve kept locked away in my heart and mind. Usually Senenmut’s words comfort and embolden me, but this step seems a leap vast and wide. More immense and monumental than any we’ve endeavored so far.
He kisses my hand again. “Completely.”
“I’m not certain that the initiation rites readied me,” I confess, thinking back on those long days and nights of preparation spent within the temple walls, fasting and praying and ingesting sacred herbs and staying through the morning ritual until the sun crested over the temple gates. I’d experienced glimpses of Amun and heard snatches of his encouraging words, but when I finished the initiation and returned to my palace rooms to prepare for today, doubt set in. “I’m not even sure that all those years at my father’s side and serving as regent to Thutmose the Third could prepare me.”
Senenmut places a finger on my lips. “You’ve been the pharaoh in all but name for these past seven years since Thutmose the Second died. This is a formality only. Please remind yourself of that as you undergo the coronation rites today and convey certainty to your people—and your supporters.”
I nod, and breathe deeply, trying to inhale his confidence in me. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He draws me as close as all my finery will allow. “You will never need to know.”
With Senenmut in my wake, I trail through the warren of corridors and courtyards to Amun’s sanctuary for a final blessing by the priests. I then pass through a phalanx of guards and the heavy temple doors to the wide terrace outside. There, facing the crowds below, the high priests, royal dignitaries, and elite families are assembled on either side oftwoidentical thrones. Crafted of Lebanese cedar layered with pure gold leaf and inlaid with designs of silver, lapis lazuli, garnet, turquoise, and faience, the thrones are exactly as I’d envisioned.
Only one of the thrones is empty, however, waiting for me. The other is filled by Thutmose III. The eight-year-old pharaoh is dressed in royal garb matching my own, and his feet dangle over the edge of the throne, swinging in time to the beat of the army’s drums.
As I take my place in front of the empty throne, the clean-shaven, white-linen-clad high priests of Amun begin to chant. These men have been powerful allies as I built allegiances for my kingship. Our shared dedication to Amun, his temples, and their priesthood has ensured that loyalty. Hapuseneb, the First High Priest of Amun, comes forward, wearing the distinctive leopard skin draped over his shoulder, and kneels before me. As he rises, he signals to two priests holding pillows upon which two gleaming objects sit.
With shaking hands, they bring forth the two parts of the pschent, the double crown of the pharaoh of Egypt. Reaching for the reddeshret, the crown of Lower Egypt—a wide, open copper circlet with a wire curl extending from the tip, a representation of the bee’s proboscis—the high priest calls out, “The Great God Amun has come to us in a vision. He has proclaimed that his loyal and blessed servant Hatshepsut should serve as pharaoh alongside her nephew Thutmose the Third. She has completed the initiation rights and entered into a state of divine communion with Amun in preparation.”
The crowd hushes at this announcement. The state of oneness with the god is achieved by very few, and only then as the greatest blessing. I had indeed felt an intimacy with Amun that I’d never before achieved in my daily ritual, but I’m not certain my experience is akin to the sacred communion.
Placing the reddeshreton my head over thenemes, he proclaims, “It is the will of Amun that Hatshepsut shall be the pharaoh of Lower Egypt!”
He then picks up the tapered, bulb-shaped whitehedjet. As he inserts the white papyrus crown into the circlet of the reddeshret—forming the striking double crown—he continues. “It is the will of Amun that Hatshepsut shall be the pharaoh of Upper Egypt!
“What have you chosen as your name as pharaoh?” he bellows.
I had spent many a night discussing this with Senenmut. Whatever name I chose, it would inscribed on temple walls and obelisks and mortuary chambers for time immemorial. In the end, I selectedMaatkare as my throne name, meaningMaatis the life force of Re, to connect my reign to bothMaatand Re. Then I added united with Amun to remind the Egyptian people, once again, that my position is the doing of the great god, and I used a grammatically female form of the word, so that it is clear, no matter what clothes I wear and what image is inscribed in stone, I am indeed a woman.
“Maatkare Khenemet-Amun Hatshepsut,” I yell out for all to hear.
The high priest summons another of his underlings, who hands him two more objects. “On behalf of the Great God Amun and your father, the most revered Thutmose the First—who are both here in spirit—I crown you Pharaoh Maatkare Khenemet-Amun Hatshepsut!” he announces, handing me a golden crook and a silver flail, hallmarks of the pharaoh and symbols of divine leadership and fertility of the Nile valley, respectively.
The roar of thousands overtakes the temple complex; and the sound echoes and amplifies throughout the sandstone, limestone, and red granite structures. I wait for the excitement to subside, and then begin the speech of my investiture.
Lifting the crook and flail, I call out, “I stand before you not only as Pharaoh Maatkare Khenemet-Amun Hatshepsut but as the eternal ruler anointed by Amun himself and crowned by my father, Thutmose the First. As such, I am the beneficent king, the lawgiver who judges deeds. I am the wild horned bull coming from heaven. I am the falcon who glides over the lands, defending and dividing his borders. I am the jackal who swiftly circles the land in an instant. I am excellent of heart, one who glorifies her father, attentive of deeds to render justice to him, and one who rests withmaatand bestows it.”
Silence pervades the multitudes. My words linger in the air, until one person calls out, “Hail, Pharaoh Maatkare Khenemet-Amun Hatshepsut,” and cheers erupt. Only then do I lower myself onto my new throne, meeting the gaze of Pharaoh Thutmose III for the first time since I stepped onto the temple terrace.
His boyish eyes are shimmering behind the kohl. “You won’t fly away like a falcon and leave me here to do this myself?”
I remember he’s just a child, reach for his hand. Intertwining his fingers in mine, I say, “Never. We will do this together.”
