“But what?” he asks.
“But I didn’t want to foist it upon you. And, of course, I wanted you to be of age before we even discussed it—and I’d hoped to surprise you with it. I can see now that wasn’t the right approach.”
His eyes are bright underneath the kohl, and he says, “I’m of age now. What is this plan?”
“Well, then”—I smile—“I think you should lead our military forces.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
1465BC
THEBES,EGYPT
My daughter, her beautiful coppery skin gleaming in the candlelight and her eyes twinkling like dark topaz, stands at the altar. Although she leans over the gold-and-gem-encrusted table typically used for sacrifices, she holds in her hand not a knife but a reed pen. Slowly, surely, she inscribes her name to the contract. Thutmose III, my nephew and Neferure’s half brother, does the same. Their union is now official.
The temple erupts in jubilation. Dignitaries and servants alike call out congratulations on themeniorgrg proriret hemetof Thutmose and Neferure. These words mean “to moor a boat” or “to find a house” or “to make a wife,” respectively. I join them in these blessings, and then signal for the music to begin. Tradition requires I preside over the festivities above the crowd, otherwise I signal that I amnota divine being. So, even though I long to feast and dance alongside my daughter and the rest of our guests, I must retire to my throne and watch the merriment from afar.
My only consolation is that Senenmut will be at my side throughout the banquet. As I lower myself onto my throne, we give each other a small smile. I know he feels as bittersweet as I do about this marriage. While we knew the union was inevitable—her only possible groom was Thutmose, after all—it still feels likeourdaughter is slipping away. Even when she fully assumed the role of God’s Wife and began inhabiting her own house attended by her own servants and courtiers, she was still our child, first and foremost. Now her primary role will be queen.
In fact, Senenmut may be taking this harder than I. Last evening, we ate together just us three, a repast of Neferure’s favorite perch and duck with vegetables, followed by figs and honey. I gave Neferure a gold diadem decorated with ornamental gazelle heads and rosettes of carnelian and turquoise, reminding her that she’s always been my “little gazelle” and always will be, as well as a pair of gold sandals inlaid with turquoise, perfectly molded to the shape of her feet. But these presents seemed paltry in comparison to Senenmut’s gesture. He presented her with a masterful diorite sculpture of himself seated with a young Neferure in his lap, his arms enveloping her protectively. “So that I’ll always be with you,” he said as she embraced him in thanks, a tear trickling down his cheek.
“Do you think he’ll make her happy?” I whisper as I watch the new bride and groom link hands for a dance. They look handsome together, perfectly in sync with the lyrical music of the harp, lute, and drum.
“As happy as possible with an arranged, familial marriage, I suppose,” he answers, trying to hide the note of doubt in his voice. “As happy as you were with Thutmose the Second.”
I nod, suddenly reminded of my mother who’d arranged just such a marriage for me. How my mother would have adored this spectacle, evidence of the lineage she’d fostered into existence, and I wish illness hadn’t taken her only five months before. She’d be delighted, but I wonder if she’d see the terribleness of it too. The awfulness of its necessity, instead of the ready embracing of competent female heirs. Will Neferure resent me one day for not shattering the rule requiring her to marry for the betterment of the kingdom rather than love? Will she need to become more than a queen one day—as I have had to do?
I study the couple as they perform the steps of an intricate dance. For a brief moment, they seem almost like strangers instead of kin. Neferure, at fourteen, has fine features; a lithe, graceful figure; and the bearing of the queen. Thutmose is nothing like his frail, delicate father. Instead, he has the height and strength of his mother’s people, who’d been farmers. Although the lack of royal maternal heritage is a mark against Thutmose III’s claim to the throne—and a weaknessabout which we must always be vigilant—I hope that his apparent virility will help bring forth a multitude of heirs. And bring stability to their futures.
After all, since he’s come of age, Thutmose has proven to be an excellent pharaoh. With guidance, he has forged successful relationships with the ambassadors from the lands with which we trade, among them, Babylon; Persia; Kush; Anatolia; Crete; Syria; and now, to my delight, Punt. He leads a formidable army but is aligned with my view that war isn’t always necessary to achieve our goals. We have clearly delineated our areas of control, and he doesn’t bristle that he must share the throne with a woman. It bodes well not only for Egypt but for our royal line and Neferure’s future.
“Time for the presentation of gifts,” the head priest announces.
Thutmose and Neferure return to the altar to make their offerings to the gods. When they finish, the priest signals to the guests, and they leap to their feet in a mad effort to have their servants present their gifts. Each is vying to deliver the most memorable present to the pharaoh and his new queen in the hopes that it will bring them favor. But they must wait for me.
I stand, and the room silences. The frantic gestures cease, and the guests bow. Only Neferure and Thutmose do not shift their posture. “I would like to bestow something special on Pharaoh Thutmose the Third and his High Queen Neferure in honor of their union,” I announce, my gaze fixed on my daughter.
A half smile appears on her lovely lips, and I cannot help but smile back, even though it isn’t exactly royal. “I am bequeathing to you an entirely new palace of your own within the complex here at Thebes, one whose construction was completed only last month.”
Neferure must be overjoyed—I can see it on her face—but I have trained my daughter well. She composes herself with the finesse of my mother, and says, “My greatest thanks, Your Majesty.”
I note that she doesn’t sound surprised, and I wonder if she’s overheard my conversations with Senenmut about the building. But Thutmose’s reaction is entirely different. His mouth is agape, and he stammers, “D-do you mean the sandstone structure on the west side of the palace complex? The one with all the pillars?”
“That’s the one,” I say. It’s the only building that’s recently been completed, so an easy guess.
“I—I thought that was going to be a mortuary building,” Thutmose says, his face and tone still resonating with astonishment.
“That was the ruse,” I answer, quite pleased with myself.
Shaking his head with surprise and gratitude, he says, “My heartiest of thanks, Hatshepsut.” He is the only person in the kingdom who can call me by my given name in public; not even my daughter can do so.
From the vantage point of my dais, I gaze down at Thutmose and Neferure. The distance between my daughter and me seems much wider than the space between my throne and the altar. Today, of all days, I don’t want to be pharaoh. I simply want to be her mother.
Chapter Fifty-Three
1464BC
THEBES,EGYPT
