Chapter Fifty
1470BC
THEBES,EGYPT
“Your Majesty, the kingdom has already spent far too much money on these far-flung expeditions to Punt and colonial rule. We need the treasury funds for more pressing matters here in Thebes,” says a man wearing an intricately pleated ocher-colored linen shift—the latest in noble fashion—with intricate leather sandals. His tone is petulant, even entitled, and he dares to interrupt an urgent side conversation I’m having with Senenmut about the construction of my mortuary temple. This man believes his issue is paramount and requires that he not only interrupt the pharaoh but leap to the front of the weekly audience queue to do so.
How dare he criticize my crusade to Punt?I think. When I assumed the throne, I decided to embark on a momentous endeavor that would serve as the hallmark of my reign, much as my father’s campaigns to Kush did for him. If I could assemble a team capable of establishing favorable trade relations with the legendarily rich kingdom of Punt, then wouldn’t my reign become as storied as my father’s? If I could create an efficient trade route with Punt via sea—so we wouldn’t be reliant on other countries to acquire the items we sought from Punt via overland routes—wouldn’t my kingship be irrefutably ordained by the gods? Wouldn’t a new trade route benefit my people? So I’d assembled a team two years ago—led by a resourceful court official, Nehsi—and tasked them with establishing trade with it. But I’ve had to fight off objections to the Punt mission ever since. Like the one today.
I stare down at the man from the dais, where my throne sits high above everyone in the room. I’ve worked hard in the two years since my coronation to ensure unwavering loyalty. It is no easy matter to keep power centralized and regularly appease my forty-two provinces and Kush. Throughout my kingdom, I’ve erected granite monoliths taller than any structure to document the gods-given nature of my role—using every bit of symbology at my disposal—for all the citizens to see. Whenever I enter the public sphere, I wear the ceremonial dress of the pharaoh to proclaim the extent of my power. Together with Senenmut, I’ve identified those elites and administrators steadfast in their allegiance to me and rewarded them handsomely. And occasionally, to eliminate naysayers eager to sow seeds of dissension, I must do what I’m about to do today.
How else will I keep this rule intact for Thutmose III and his bride-to-be Neferure when they assume the thrones?
“Who are you to tell the pharaoh what to do?” I bellow, pausing to let the magnitude of my words echo throughout the cavernous chamber and within every subject’s ears. “Who are you to order the one who’s been chosen by the gods?”
My tone alerts the guards. They come to attention, ready their shields and spears, and prepare to strike. The odious man drops to his knees, then lies prostrate on the floor. “Your M-Majesty, my deepest apologies. I hadn’t meant to offend, I’d only—”
“Escort this man from my sight,” I instruct the guards, and four of the soldiers carry the man out of my chamber and into the bowels of the palace. I will decide later what fate will befall him, but I could not allow him to challenge my decisions before a chamber full of people. This man might be one, once I’ve ascertained his willingness to commit to Pharaoh Maatkare Khenemet-Amun Hatshepsut.
Turning from the guards to Senenmut, I see that my action pleases him. Although my natural inclination doesn’t always tend toward such public penalties, I know he’s right to advise me to take bold steps when necessary. During his own work overseeing the religious communities throughout the land, the granaries, the treasury, all building projects, and importation and exportation over our vastly expanded trade routes, he’s learned that retribution must be meted out from time to time.
I turn back toward the supplicants who have become immobile and silent at my disciplinary action. With a nod, I signal the next in line to move forward. But the organized queue has become jumbled, and no one steps up. They are too terrified.
Is this the reaction I seek? Do I want to rule by fear rather than inspiration?
Just then, the heavy chamber door swings open wide, slamming against the walls behind them. This is a serious breach of decorum, warranted only by the most necessary and urgent development, and could even be considered a threat. The guards immediately assemble around me, prepared for whatever and whoever forced their way into my throne chamber.
A broad-shouldered, muscled man, deeply touched by the rays of the sun, stands before me. His posture does not bear any hint of the submissiveness I usually receive in this chamber, the scene earlier today notwithstanding. As he gazes around the room like a lion who unexpectedly found himself inside, he meets my eyes—heresy, unto itself—until he recognizes his misstep and drops to his knees.
“Your Majesty,” he says, his tone contrite, “It is I, Nehsi, returned from the land of Punt.”
My heart begins hammering in my chest. Could it really be Nehsi? The leader of the troops? Why, I’d sent him out on the expedition with hundreds of men, a mix of soldiers, sailors, and oarsmen, nearly two years ago. The men had carried five deconstructed, seventy-foot-long ships across the desert of Wadi Hammamat to the Red Sea harbor of Saww, where they rebuilt the ships and set out onto the Red Sea—to make inroads into Punt, the land whispered to be overflowing with gold, ebony, and incense.
We haven’t heard from them since. And day by day, month by month, year by year, the doubts about their mission grew, as has the restlessness among the people of Egypt. About my choices. About whether the gods had indeed blessed my reign.
Rising from my throne, I walk across the dais and down the stairs to where he stands. The people gasp as I pass. But this occasion demands it.
I stop only when I am close to the kneeling Nehsi. “You may stand,” I instruct him. As he assumes his full height, shoulders squarebut eyes cast down as is seemly, I see how much he’s changed. The official who’d inhabited the palace, issuing orders from a distance, had immersed himself in danger and rigor out in the world, and been transformed.
“You have been in Punt all this time?” I ask, marveling at his return.
“Yes, Pharaoh Maatkare Khenemet-Amun Hatshepsut,” he answers, his voice proud and the hint of a smile on his lips. I wonder how he knows my pharaonic name. Did some court official pull him aside before he entered my throne room?
“You achieved your goal?” I ask, still incredulous that the crusade succeeded and my grand undertaking along with it.
“I did indeed, Your Majesty. Punt is beyond our wildest imaginings,” he says, the smile broadening. “May I share with you the wonders and riches we have brought back for you? Items that you will now be able to access with ready ease through the new route?”
I clasp my hands excitedly and nod. Nehsi gestures to a grubby-looking soldier standing in the back of my chamber. A line of soldiers marches back inside, carrying wonders the likes of which I’ve never seen.
“Incense, Your Majesty,” Nehsi calls out when several of his men enter carrying jars of the rare, fragrant substance necessary for our rituals.
Six men follow, carrying small trees with intricately curving branches and a multitude of tiny tear-shaped leaves. “Incense trees, Pharaoh Maatkare Khenemet-Amun Hatshepsut, so that we might grow incense here ourselves and not rely on trade,” he proclaims, his pride evident. And Nehsi should be proud. To not rely on trade for a substance we need in great amounts is a tremendously wise plan.
Another group of soldiers enters, each carrying a stack of animal hides in a dizzying array of colors and patterns. “The hides of leopards, panthers, lions, gazelles, and zebra, Your Majesty.”
The procession of gifts continues with ebony, gold, plants, and rare wood until my head is spinning with the bounty. At its conclusion, three unusually dressed men step into my chamber. They are clearly not soldiers; nothing about their flowing, multicolored robes or the ropes of gems around their necks speaks of battle. “May I presentthree senior dignitaries from the court at Punt, my pharaoh?” Nehsi asks, with a low bow. “Punt was well pleased with our visit, and these men hope to establish equitable trade routes with Egypt through conversations with you and your advisers.”
The three men kneel before me, and as I give them leave to stand, I say to Nedjem, “Please show these esteemed gentlemen to the guest chambers and arrange a meal for them. We will assemble a council for talks once they’ve rested.”
