All the pageantry, all the intricately carved obelisks, all the feast days are not enough to stave off the whispers about the strangeness of Egypt’s two equal pharaohs, especially since I am a woman. Senenmut collects murmurs from elites, foreign dignitaries, administrators, and common folk alike, sorting them into categories ranging from innocent, if unpleasant, gossipmongering to potential threats. And then we formulate plans to eviscerate them all.
What choice did we have? How else could we protect our daughter? If I was felled, so might she be, no matter the support of Thutmose III. I will do whatever it takes to protect her and the Thutmoside legacy.
My maids ready me for the final day of the Sed festival. I had announced that we are celebrating it this year in commemoration of my father Thutmose I’s ascension to the throne. This grand jubilee has been a thirty-day spectacle, and I intend it to remind our citizens of the length and legacy of the Thutmoside reign. We hosted daylong feasts. I underwent multiple garment changes as we presided over private rituals and public festivals in Thebes and across the region. I even participated in the sacred races along the Nile, carrying symbolic objects like oars and birds. At least Senenmut was nearly always present, as he was the ceremonial stand-in for the god Horus.
Today, at precisely midday, I will oversee the final and most important moment of the festival. It will be the culminating juncturenot only of this commemoration but of the message about the legitimacy of my role. And I hope it will silence all my detractors once and for all.
“Is it too tight, Your Majesty?” a maid asks. The task of wrapping the linen cloths more tightly around my chest is an uncomfortable one for her, but she must continue. Otherwise, I will not be altered, and my meaning will not be plain for all to see.
“No, please continue.” I lift my arms higher so she can wind the linen bands around the entire length of my torso. “Tighter even still,” I insist.
When she finishes, I lower my arms, and the other maids wrap the fabric around my waist, the girdle on top of that, and then the wig, beard, and crown. “Would you like to see yourself, Your Majesty?”
“Yes, please hold it from afar so I can see the length of me.”
Another girl tiptoes toward me with a mirror. She tilts it, and the magnitude of my appearance today sets in. Over the years, I’ve grown accustomed to wearing the masculine headdress and wig, the ornamental gold beard, even the girdle of a pharaoh, and I believe the people have too. But I’ve always worn the linen robe of a queen underneath it all, never fully surrendering that acknowledgement of my gender. But today, I’ve eschewed all vestiges of femininity. The maids have bound my breasts flat, so that I will appear in the full guise of a male pharaoh. Seeing it does take me back a little, but it must be done; the way I present myself to the world is a sort of iconography, in and of itself. No more will Thutmose III have to suffer through insults and the weakening of his authority because he stands side by side—equal in all respects—with a female pharaoh.
And this is just the beginning.
I nod to the maids, who’ve been understandably uncomfortable with these preparations.Was this heresy, I could almost see them ask themselves,to erase the gods-given gender of a pharaoh?When I finally give my approval, their relief is palpable.
A phalanx of guards to each side, I step out onto the central court of the temple of Amun, where thousands of people are assembled for the Sed festival’s final ceremony. I situate myself between two obelisks constructed specifically for this event and the new temple Icommissioned at the court’s center, made almost entirely out of red quartzite such that it seems to glow from within. The sun is nearly in the perfect position for me to commence.
The crowd erupts at the sight of this changed Pharaoh Maatkare Khenemet-Amun Hatshepsut. I allow their rumblings to continue and I can guess at their queries. What is the meaning of my appearance? What did I plan to do next? Why am I waiting to speak? I feed on this anxious anticipation until the time is nigh.
The rays of the sun—Re’s rays—hit the electrum covering the top of the two obelisks. Blinding light reflects off the metallic tips, spilling down onto me. As if by the gods’ own hand, I am illuminated.
The people drop to their knees, as if they were in the presence not of their pharaoh but of a living god. As I’d hoped.
“I speak to you now about the Thutmoside rule, celebrated the past thirty days through the Sed festival,” I say. “That legacy began with my father, Thutmose; passed then to me and my brother Thutmose the Second; and continued on with me and Thutmose the Third. For over forty years, we have ruled asone—under the blessing and direction of the gods—over a unified Egypt. It began, of course, with the ascension of my father, Thutmose the First, to the throne, the pharaoh who began reclaiming Egypt’s bright destiny with his expansion of our borders. But you may not know that my fate as ruler was predestined from the moment of my conception. The god Amun appeared to my mother, Queen Ahmes, nine months before the day of my birth and impregnated her as well, and then informed my father that his daughter would be both human and divine and rule alongside him. I learned at my father’s side, so that when the gods called upon me to serve with both Thutmose the Second and Thutmose the Third, I was ready. And I became the pharaoh foretold by Amun.”
I pause, taking in the reverent mood of the people, and then say, “Rise. This legacy can be seen on the temple I’ve constructed for today’s celebration.” I gesture to the two-roomed red temple behind me. “On its doors, exterior facade, and inside walls, these events and this history are memorialized, as you will witness yourself in thetemple’s vestibule and sanctuary. In these images, I appear as the pharaoh that Amun presaged.” By this, I mean that I’m shown in my masculine kingly form, as I will now do anytime I am in public.
I do not mention that images of Neferure also appear throughout the interior of the Red Chapel. On the walls, Neferure is proclaimed as the God’s Wife of Amun, a lofty title. The entire temple is meant to be narrative support for my kingship, but I could not resist adding my daughter; I only wish I could have added my love, Senenmut. I cleave to those few private relationships I’m allowed—or that I hide.
“I invite you to enter this chapel,” I say, and at this, the people gasp. So many of our places of worship are open only to the priestly class and shielded in mystery. “Gaze at its engraving, soak in its message, and celebrate more than forty years of the gods-blessed Thutmoside dynasty with us. But remember: To rise up against one of us is to rise up against all—and we are your future.”
I hope this inspires rather than terrifies. But often I must take the course that will best serve and delivermaat,not the one I’d design.
Eve
Chapter Fifty-Four
AUGUST 30, 1922
HAMPSHIRE,ENGLAND
A period of quiet descends upon Highclere Castle. The staff returns to their routines, and my parents settle into a stretch of relative contentment as they replay the events of Porchey’s July wedding over afternoon tea and evening meals. I relax into a routine of morning rides, daytime hours in the Music Room with Howard, and regular evenings with Brograve. But a restlessness courses through and around me today while I work in the Music Room, and I wonder at its source.
Could my unease relate to Brograve? I think back on his most recent visit, only last week. The Sunday afternoon had been sticky and hot; and after church, a small party of us had fled to the shade of the trees near the Temple of Diana. My neighbor Lucy Milgrove had wanted to investigate the folly more closely and enlisted her brother Stephen to join her, leaving Brograve and me on the picnic blanket alone, save for our servant Roger, who stood at a respectful distance. We picked at the ham, cheese, and fruit that Cook had prepared, but the heat had robbed us of our appetites. Smoothing out the skirt of my lightweight, pale blue dress, I leaned back on a pillow. My eyelids grew heavy, and sleep threatened to take hold—until Brograve commented, “It seems you are more susceptible to the heat than I.”
Forcing my eyes back open, I turned toward him. A playful light danced in his eyes, and I teased back. “Heat? You don’t know the meaning of heat until you’ve spent a season digging in the desert.Anyway, it’s not the heat making me tired but our late night playing whist.”
“I’d like to experience the heat of an archaeological dig,” he said, and his voice no longer sounded lighthearted. I studied his face, and realized he was in earnest.
Sitting up, I said, “I’d like that too, Brograve.” But then I averted my eyes, suddenly feeling shy. What exactly was he suggesting?
He scooted a little closer to me, and said softly, “I spent months and months in Egypt with the military, but I never truly saw it until I met you. I want to go back with you at my side and experience the people and the landscape and the food and an excavation through your eyes.”
