“Together, they are thesekhemti”—the other man speaks—“the united Egypt over which you rule, my lord.”
“Yes.” My father claps. Maintaining the strong unification of Upperand Lower Egypt is one of the most important tasks of a pharaoh. Not long ago, Egypt had been fractured and the crucialmaatdestroyed along with it. But my father has solidified the hard-won unification wrought by Pharaoh Ahmose I, fifty years ago.
The tax collectors’ shoulders slump, and their faces appear relieved. They think they’ve pleased Thutmose, an unreachable goal according to reports. But they don’t know him.
He takes two steps closer to the men, whose heads remain bowed. I imagine that they are staring at his sandals, made with the softest leather edged in gold. Are they envisioning a word of praise? A gift from the living god? Poor souls.
My father hisses. “Then if, as my crown makes plain, we are alloneEgypt, why would I want to listen to your squabbling about whether Lower or Upper Egypt should pay more in taxes? Why would the gods care for that bickering?” He gestures to the panoply of gods depicted on the walls.
Even though the men haven’t been given leave to withdraw from the presence of Thutmose, they both recoil the tiniest bit at the vehemence in his words. The royal guards march closer to the men at this infraction. They are the only people in the audience hall who have had the audacity to move. Even I don’t soften my stance or my gaze.
I can do nothing to mar my worthiness to sit on this dais alongside my father. Too much resistance already exists. When Father began inviting me to join him for these public forums, my mother balked at the impropriety of a girl being present on the dais. In his most imperious tone, he reminded her that I’m no mere girl, but a pharaoh’s daughter and powerful in my own right as the God’s Wife. Her overt objections ceased at that, but I still saw the judgment in her gaze every time my servants readied me for the audience hall. I cannot harbor resentment against her, though, for I saw the grief in her eyes alongside the judgment; my eldest brother, Wadjmose, did not survive a recent plague that took many from Thebes village and the palace alike. I am sitting in his stead.
My father’s voice returns me to the moment. “How should we resolve this issue ofjusttax payment, as you called it?”
The soldiers now flank the tax collectors. The men do not dareraise their eyes, but I see them glance at each other in fear and desperation. They seem to reach an accord, because, in unison, they reply, using my father’s most formal name, “Son of Ra, Upper and Lower Egypt will bear the costs equally.”
“Ah, excellent,” my father says, and I can almost feel the entire room exhale in relief. “You were inspired to ajustresolution.”
“Your divinity inspires all,” the older of the tax collectors says, a refrain every Egyptian knows from childhood.
With that, my father proceeds out of the hall, nodding at me slightly as he does. This is my signal to rise and follow him into the royal antechamber. I enter behind him, and our servants scurry to our sides, relieving each of us of the weighty crowns and heavy gold girdles we wear in our royal roles. As the servants work, my father says, “I hope you learned lessons about ruling today. You must use a firm and even hand, and bring your subjects around to thejustconclusion by the means at your disposal.”
My father refers specifically to the thorny issue of this afternoon—the tricky apportionment of taxes between Lower Egypt with its lush delta and the vaster Upper Egypt with its hot desert swaths relieved only by the fertile Nile valley. But I know he means for his words to have broader implications.
“Maat,” I say, referring to the concept for truth and justice that permeates the gods’ teachings and is the goal of kingly rule, “requires that the two halves of our land share the financial burden equally, because we are indeed one country under your rule. You brought the administrators to see the importance of that tradition—by referencing our sacred symbols and teaching and your might.”
I think, but do not say, how my father keeps with traditional perspectives only when they match his own. For example, even though every Egyptian ruler, who preceded him for a thousand years, built public, pyramidal tombs, he is constructing a highly secret tomb within a mountain in western Thebes. It is a bold effort to thwart the tomb thieves.
“Exactly. As the God’s Wife of Amun, you have your own lands, estates, palaces, treasury, and your own subjects. You are the highest-ranking woman in the land, and you must know how tocommand and make decisions. There will come a time when I’m not here to guide and advise you.”
“No,” I insist with a vehement shake of my head.
Rather than becoming irritated with my contrariness, he offers me a sad smile. “It is the gods’ will that all of us should leave this life and journey to the underworld.”
Nedjem pauses, her eyebrows lifted in a silent question as to whether she should remove my bracelets, necklaces, and rings amidst this moving exchange between me and my father. I nod. I long to feel light and free after so many hours of formal duties and this somber conversation.
As our servants finish and back out of the chamber one by one, my father calls to me. I rush to his side, staring up at his dark, powerful features. How different he looks without the gleam of the double crown. Standing before me in a simple pleated kilt, without his gem-encrusted girdle affixed with a bull’s tail and his crook and flail, he is no longer the Son of Ra, he is only Father.
He stretches out his arms, and I curl into his embrace. Although many times a day I receive the cautious ministrations of servants, I am so rarely touched with human affection that I nearly cry.
“You carried yourself with a god’s grace today, Hatshepsut,” he says, and I relish being called by my given name—which means “foremost of noble ladies”—rather than a title. For a brief moment, I am no longer the pharaoh’s child or the God’s Wife, I am only a daughter.
Chapter Seven
1486BC
THEBES,EGYPT
How will I make it through this afternoon? The line of supplicants stretches the length of my audience chamber and into the courtyard. Each priest or land manager or steward brings his own request or problem, one he believes is unique although I know is supremely inconsequential in the eyes of the gods. All I see is the pettiness before me, and I am horribly frustrated by it.
I know I should not be. I tell myself to be grateful to wield the power I have—most women have none—and to address these people’s complaints with the magnanimity of Amun, creator of all, most powerful of the gods. I pray to the gods to lift this restlessness from me, to instill in me the right mindset to hear these pleas. But then sunlight reflects off the gilt pattern decorating the archway to the garden, and I long to be outside in the glorious growing season ofperet. It is so much more pleasant than the inundation season ofakhetor the harvest season ofshemu. And it’s fleeting.
Nedjem senses my mood, and motions for the servants to wave their ostrich fans more vigorously. She assumes I’m drowsy from the warm afternoon, and she would be correct on most days. After all, every morning, I rise while the world still sleeps to rouse the god Amun to deliver us the dawn. But today, my disquiet has more to do with the futility and tedium of the applications before me than the heat or my exhaustion.
A furor erupts in the courtyard outside. I turn toward the sound, even though I know it goes against decorum for the God’s Wifeto shift in my inlaid chair in this setting. Has a fight broken out among stewards over production of wine or honey or grain? Certain disputes can impact the people in my charge, of course, and I care about those rarer arguments. But most of the petitions before me seem to focus upon the profits particular stewards or priests believe they should receive.
One of my mother’s handmaidens arrives at the entrance to the audience hall and signals to Nedjem. I try to concentrate on the presentation before me, but the girl’s arrival is most unorthodox. I can see Nedjem’s expression turn from concern to horror, and I raise my hand to cease the incessant nattering of a temple priest.
