The Double Crown: Secret Writings of the Female Pharaoh (44 page)

“And how do you know this? You did not travel north as far as Kadesh, surely?”

“No. But we have scouts, who went that far and observed what was going on. Also, we captured some Bedouin who turned out to be spies for the Hittites. They were … persuaded … to tell us what they knew. Large armies are mustering. Already their advance guard attacks and plunders our outposts. We shall have to act, and act decisively.”

“What do you think should be done?”

“For a start it will be necessary to take Megiddo, to teach the rebels a lesson. Furthermore, we are reliably informed that they have laid up a substantial wheat harvest. It could be confiscated and brought to Egypt.”

“And why, in that case, have you come home? Turned tail, did you?”

“I obeyed the instructions of my Pharaoh,” he said, stiffly. “I came to tell Your Majesty in person what the situation is, since I had no responses to my letters. I came to urge the dispatch of an entire army, not merely one or two divisions.”

“Should I send the Great Commander?” I asked, watching him carefully.

He did not hesitate. “Yes, Majesty. As soon as possible. I will gladly serve under him.”

And you would have every opportunity of dispatching him to the Afterlife, I thought, and making it seem the fortune of war. You could then take the command, subdue the rebels (whose strength and determination you have no doubt exaggerated), return as a conquering hero bearing treasure and food, and usurp the throne. Probably also allowing an insurgency from the south, from your own country, the wretched Kush.

I could not believe that I was having such thoughts about my old friend and faithful supporter. Yet it was as if the devils of Seth had crept into my heart, making me fearful and suspicious. What should I do? What should I believe? What should I decide?

“I shall put it to my advisers,” I said.

He made an obeisance and left silently as ever.

I was much disturbed. Bastet sensed my restlessness and jumped off my lap, whereupon Sekhmet chased her off the portico into the garden. I watched them streaking across the flower beds with a troubled heart. I do not want to do this. I think most of my advisors will think we should go to war. But I shall insist on a delay, while we first send more scouts to ascertain whether Khani speaks the truth or whether he exaggerates.

I have nobody left whom I can trust.

Here endeth the twenty-fourth scroll.                      

I am hurt, sorely hurt, that Her Majesty does not think of me as someone she can trust, someone she can depend upon. It is not that she does not trust me, in truth. The fact is that she does not think of me at all. She forgets me altogether. She forgets that I breathe. And yet I saved her life once; and even now I hold it in my hands.

They are dangerous documents, these scrolls that I carry away with me. The one I brought out today, for example … It gives me power to have these words of the Pharaoh in my possession. Of course she does not know that I read what she writes. She believes that the royal seal keeps her words private. She never suspects that I have insight into her thoughts; that I am, in some way, an intimate confidant of the King.

It has occurred to me that I could betray her. Yes, I must admit that I have thought of this. More than once. I have considered showing the scrolls to the Grand Vizier and I have thought he would reward me. Richly. I might be given many debens of gold for making these writings known to him and to the Great Commander. I might achieve high office by such means. I might become a great name in the land, with many titles, with much property and many slaves.

Now it has occurred to me that General Khani might give much to read this latest scroll. For that matter, I could go and fetch all of the scrolls that I have so carefully hidden, and take them to him. He would know her heart, then, he would know all her weaknesses, her suspicions, her doubts. If indeed he is as ambitious as she thinks he may be, if he does indeed desire the Double Throne, what might I not gain by giving him these insights? What rewards might not be mine?

But no. But no. I have the Pharaoh’s trust. Once I saved her life. By the Ka of Thoth, I will keep faith with her. Even though she does not think of me. Were I to betray my King, it would be an act against Ma’at. I will not do it.

THE TWENTY-FIFTH SCROLL

The reign of Hatshepsut year 21:
The second month of Akhet day 20

Today my steward Amenhotep came to me bearing bad news. He is not given to being emotional, but I could see at once that he was upset. He reported to my office at the palace, as he does regularly – indeed, daily when he is in Thebes. But of late he has been spending all his time at the quarry where work on my giant obelisk has been going on for weeks. His skin was blistered by the sun and his bony frame had lost what little flesh it had carried. A lean and sinewy man, he is as tough as a mooring rope, but he staggered a little when he made obeisance.

“My dear Amenhotep,” I said, “you look ill. Please be seated and I will call for beer. I am sure you are thirsty.”

He shook his head dumbly and shuffled. “Majesty is gracious,” he said, his voice almost a croak. Then he stared at his feet. His toenails were cracked and ingrained with dirt. I could see that he had been working with the team of labourers and stonemasons himself.

“Well, talk to me,” I prompted him. “What have you to report?”

“Majesty …” His voice failed.

“What is it? Has there been an accident?” Sometimes bad accidents occur at the quarries and men are injured. I hoped this was not the case, for I did not want deaths associated with my obelisk.

“No, Majesty.” He cleared his throat. Then he looked me in the eye, and it came out in a rush: “The obelisk has cracked, Majesty. We have had to abandon it.” He clenched his lips, which were trembling.

I saw that he was very much afraid. No doubt he expected some awful punishment to descend upon him. Or perhaps he merely feared my rage. But what does it benefit one to rail at the gods? For certainly, Amenhotep and his workers would have done their utmost to make a success of the task. Their failure must mean that the gods did not favour it. More than that: It must mean that the gods were angry. If that were true, it would be my fault, not his.

“Do you know why?” I asked calmly.

He drew a deep, wavering breath and coughed. “We had already excavated it on three sides,” he told me, clearly much relieved at my response. “It is red granite. It would have been remarkable. We worked extremely hard, Majesty.”

“I can see that you took a hand in it yourself,” I said.

“Yes, Majesty, I did. We had extra hands on the team and we worked also at night by torchlight. All other work was stopped. We tried …” His voice broke and he coughed again. Stone dust, I thought.

“Well, then what happened?”

“The upper end is cracked,” he said sadly. “I believe it was a latent fault in the material. There is nothing to be done. Nothing at all.”

I nodded. A fault in the material. Not human error. Indeed, the gods were angry. But why? Could it be that danger was threatening Egypt and Pharaoh was not responding with sufficient vigour? Was it time to come forth as the destroyer? What was it that the gods desired of me?

“Majesty, I fear it is too late to try again,” said Amenhotep. “Also …” he paused.

“Yes?”

“Also, the flood is not happening. It would be impossible, Majesty, to transport a giant obelisk on the river as low as it is. Even if we could complete one, which we cannot.”

I nodded again. It is true. The water is extremely low. Lower than I have ever seen it in my life at this time of year, and there have been one or two years when the inundation was not entirely satisfactory – once during my late father’s reign and once during my husband’s reign, may they both live. But never was it like this.

“Amenhotep, thank you for coming to tell me of this yourself,” I said. “I am sure that you, all of you, did your best. It seems that the undertaking did not have the favour of the gods. You should go home now. I should think your wife will be glad to have you back. Rest for a day and then turn your attention to the arrangements for the Opet festival.”

“Majesty will still hold it?” He was surprised.

“Oh, yes. It seems to me to be more necessary than ever. We must propitiate the gods.” Never had the Opet festival seemed so important to me.

I have not had a chance to continue my writing for some time. So much has happened. Despite the setback with the obelisk, the arrangements and preparations for the Opet festival went forward, and on the due date all was ready. Normally this is the greatest Theban festival of the year and the people welcome it. They are free to take part, since it is the time of flooding: The harvest is long past and it is not yet time to plough and sow. It is usually boisterous and joyous and there is much feasting and dancing in the streets.

But this year the mood was sombre. The waters remain undeniably low. People are beginning to fear that there will be famine in a few months’ time, and when the festival began they did not feel festive. I had however set my hopes on the Opet festival to turn peoples’ minds to the positive message of rebirth and renewal, and I trusted that the familiar rituals and ceremonies would work their customary magic, restoring the connections of the Pharaoh with the gods and with the people of the Black Land.

The crowd that gathered on the first day to watch the priests enter the temple at Karnak to prepare the God for the procession was smaller than usual and subdued. The bright flags that festooned the route hung slack in the oppressive heat; there was not a breath of wind. Only a few garlands of flowers, already browned and curling from the merciless sun, hung from poles beside the way. I waited outside the entrance for the priests to carry out their prescribed tasks; I had to be there to greet the God and to escort him to the temple at Luxor. Slaves held up parasols over me and over my ladies and others wafted ostrich feather fans, but it was a long, hot wait nonetheless.

Inside, I knew, the priests would be bathing the image of the God and then dressing him in spotless linen robes. He would be adorned with precious jewellery from the temple treasury and placed upon a barque.

They seemed to be taking an age. We were becoming breathless in the heat. At last the priests emerged from the temple bearing the stately barque upon their shoulders, led by the tall figure of Hapuseneb, resplendent in his leopard-skin drape and enormous ceremonial wig. I greeted the God, making a deep obeisance, then turned to escort the barque, walking directly behind it.

Now the images of Mut and Khonsu, Amen’s consort and their son, carried in their own barques, joined the procession. The Opet festival is the honeymoon of Amen and Mut, making possible the conception of their divine son. Nine months later the statue of Mut will be taken to the birthing house to give symbolic birth to Khonsu. I hoped that the renewal of the divine Theban Triad would bring about the inundation.

As we moved into the street, the crowd gave a collective gasp and a cheer went up. I began to feel more confident. On either side walked priests carrying incense and shaking sistrums. Behind us waiting dignitaries fell into step, followed by chantresses, musicians on trumpets and drums, acrobats, dancers and a motley group of commoners. The entire procession would make the journey to the temple at Luxor on foot. The road was lined with peddlers hawking their wares and kiosks selling items for offerings.