The Double Crown: Secret Writings of the Female Pharaoh (47 page)

In Egypt itself there is no suitable mate for me. Quite simply because such a one would need to have royal blood. I have always believed that any marriage to a lesser person would weaken my position, not strengthen it, and that still holds true. Certainly I do not want a man who seeks to govern me as well as the Black Land. Besides, Thutmose would never stand for it. We would have civil war. No, no, that would not do.

Could I turn to the Mitanni, perhaps? Propose an alliance? Or is it too late for such a move? Are they in truth already preparing to go to war against Khemet? Lately my memories of that young prince of the Mitanni have revived. I remember our conversation when he visited our kingdom that night when I was but nine, when I heard the songs of the blind bard. Perhaps I should send an envoy bearing the golden bracelet that the prince gave me then to remind him of that meeting long ago. An alliance with him would make me more powerful, not less; together we would be doubly royal, and the two kingdoms would be united by ties of blood, perhaps more binding than the golden bribes we have been using. There would be an entire empire’s army to call upon to help defend our throne should the need arise. That alone might be sufficient to keep the ambitions of the runt in check.

Of course I know that prince is probably dead by now. And even if he lives, the young prince is surely no longer young nor handsome. It may be that he has a pot belly, foul breath and no teeth. I do not look forward to a union with someone gross. I wondered how much older he was than me. About ten years, I should estimate. That would make him fifty-one, if he still breathes. No. Much too old. Since women generally age better than men – I do not think that I look particularly aged, even if I have been slimmer, and I feel no embarrassment in wearing a diaphanous linen robe – it would be better to seek a partner younger than myself. Yes, I thought, perhaps the prince in question has a younger brother; the King of the Mitanni has doubtless sired many princes. They could supply a young and virile man to stand at my right hand; also to share my bed. Perhaps such an invitation might serve to avoid a violent confrontation.

The idea grew more and more attractive as the boat sailed on towards Thebes. Even yet, my monthly flux is strong; I could still bear a son to inherit the Double Throne. A son to lead men and to govern wisely. Or a daughter who would be like Neferure was, may she live. Suddenly, as I sat alone upon the dais beneath the striped awning, my body ached with longing for a human touch. Oh, how I longed for a warm embrace, for a lover’s arms, a child’s hug, a baby’s milky breath against my cheek! It seemed to me that my very skin was hungry. Hungry for other skin to give it sustenance. Perhaps that is how the Ka yearns for food in the Afterlife.

The scribe Mahu was sitting at a slight distance from me, looking somewhat less strained now that we were returning to Thebes. He has attractive hands, I thought: a scribe’s hands, slightly stained with ink but not worn and calloused as a labourer’s would be.

“Mahu,” I said. “Come nearer.”

“Ma … Maya?”

“I said, come nearer to me. I want you to sit beside me, on this cushion.”

Stiffly and respectfully, he moved over, swaying with the movement of the boat, which was now sailing briskly before the wind. His eyes swerved from side to side, but nobody was paying any attention to us. He took place beside me, bolt upright.

“Hold my hand,” I said.

“Ma … Maya?” He looked petrified.

“You heard me. Hold my hand. We are together on a pleasure boat which you hired for the afternoon. I am a lady-in-waiting whom you know well. Hold my hand.”

Hesitantly, he put out a hand and I placed mine in it. I could sense a faint tremor in him, but after a few heartbeats he grew calmer and his grip intensified. I closed my eyes and held on tightly. His hand was warm and dry and strong. I could have this, I thought. A companion. A lover. Once more, I might know a close embrace, the pulsing of hot blood, the rush of delight coursing through my loins. With the breeze on my face, it seemed to me that Senenmut sat there beside me. I could smell him, a little musky. I could hear him speak, hear his deep tones, his rumbling laugh. He would make me feel young again. Together we would …

The boat gave a slight lurch as it changed direction to approach the quay. I opened my eyes. Of course it was not Senenmut by my side, merely the little scribe, his eyes huge, wondering now if we would reach the palace safely. I released his hand.

We reached the palace without any problems. I told Mahu to wait. I went to the chest where I keep my jewellery and delved deeply. Indeed, there it was, the golden bracelet from the prince of the Mitanni. Chased with an elegant design. A solid weight. I held it in my hand, thinking. Then I went out to the portico where Mahu waited patiently. I gave him the cedarwood box with the bracelet in it.

“This is for you, Mahu,” I said. “To thank you for your services. I realise that you take serious risks for my sake. Your loyalty is appreciated.”

“Majesty!” He kissed the ground. “It is not necessary … I serve the Pharaoh gladly.”

“I know you do. Yet take it. It is for you, one day perhaps for your wife. You don’t have a wife yet, do you?”

“No, Majesty. Yes, Majesty. I mean, I have no wife, but I will t-treasure the gift. Thank you, Majesty. Thank you.” He took it with both hands, then scuttled off with a look of relief on his face when I dismissed him.

I think he will remember this day.

Here endeth the twenty-sixth scroll.                      

Indeed I will, indeed I will. I took the box home and only once I was inside, with the door closed, did I open it and take out the golden bracelet that it held. The bracelet is a thing of beauty, of fine workmanship. I looked and looked at it. According to what she has written, it might have been instrumental in bringing about a crucial change in the Black Land. It might now have rested in the pouch of an envoy as he rode to the north, on his way to invite a foreigner to come and take the hand of our Pharaoh, giving him great power and great riches.

Instead, I hold it in my hand. Majesty did not write whether she has dismissed the plan completely, but would she have given the bracelet away if she had not decided against it? It is a dangerous plan. I trust that she has realised that for herself. Very dangerous indeed. I do not know how long such a man would live. The Party of Legitimacy would reject him. In fact, I think someone would kill him; I do not believe that the Great Commander, General Thutmose, would countenance a foreign man upon the Double Throne. No indeed, it would not do.

I wrapped the bracelet in some old papyrus and hid it in a hole in the wall beside the fireplace, stopping up the opening with a mud brick. I am sure it will be safe. Nobody would expect me to possess such a thing, for at present I do not yet live in the best part of town and my house is simple. I am earning more as an assistant scribe in the palace than I did previously, and I hope soon to improve my circumstances; they will be modest gains – but honestly come by. But perhaps, while I serve the Pharaoh in this secret matter, it would be better for me to remain unobtrusive and maintain a modest style of living. In any case, the bracelet will never leave my hands.

Yet, precious and beautiful though it is, it is not the main reason why I could never forget this day. It was an extraordinary experience, to sail out to Djeser-Djeseru with the Pharaoh, just we two as if we were ordinary people. Well, of course I am ordinary enough, but she is not. Today, though, I did see her as she might have been had she not been the Pharaoh and divine. A lovely woman who conversed with ease about the many building operations she has undertaken during her reign. Her Majesty has healed and restored the scarred wounds perpetrated upon the Black Land by the Hyksos. She set out to do that and she has achieved it. For that alone she deserves our gratitude.

I noted that she looked tired and sad, but after she had spent time in the temple alone her step was lighter and she smiled on me. Most extraordinary of all was the fact that she called me to her side and made me hold her hand. It was the hand of a Pharaoh and a god, but it was warm and gripped mine firmly. I noted that she had her eyes shut much of the time and she did not speak much on the return journey. Can a god be lonely? It seems unlikely, and yet I would have sworn to it that she was lonely. Had she not been the Pharaoh, I would have taken her in my arms and held her tight. That is what an ordinary woman would have wanted. But only I myself am an ordinary person, and so I just sat still and held her hand.

Reading what she has written, I now know that my instincts were correct. Alas, I could have comforted her, but even had I known – even had I understood – I would not have dared.

THE TWENTY-SEVENTH SCROLL

The reign of Hatshepsut year 21:
The third month of Peret day 29

I am not sleeping well. And I have a constant thirst. It is as if my body knows that Hapi has deserted me, as if the drought has entered into my very bones, causing the urge to drink a river. It is growing harder and harder to keep my attention on important matters. This morning I struggled through an audience with the governors of the nomes, all pleading for more rations from the royal stores. I tried to convince them that there is no need to panic, that nobody is going hungry just yet, but they kept on badgering me with greater and greater demands. More than once I lost the thread of the discussions completely. Finally I pleaded a headache – not, indeed, a lie – and ended the session early.

However, then Hapuseneb insisted on an interview, saying that it was important. He brought a young priest with him, a nervous-looking fellow with a cast in one eye.

“Majesty,” said the Grand Vizier, “at last I have news about the oracle.”

“The oracle?” I did not grasp what he was referring to.

“The oracle at the Opet festival. Your Majesty wished me to …”

“Oh, yes,” I said, remembering my anger at the treasonous words that had been intoned by the false god. I had instructed Hapuseneb to punish the priest who had spoken them, but he had maintained that he could not find the one responsible. He knew who it had been, he said, but the man had disappeared. Of course Hapuseneb himself denied any part in the wording of the speech, claiming that he had been as aghast as I had been to hear what was said. Should I have believed him? I did not know.

“Speak to the Pharaoh,” he told the priest, who was obsequiously kissing the ground. The man seemed to have been struck dumb in my presence.

“The priest who spoke for the oracle has been found,” Hapuseneb informed me.

I looked at him sharply, my fury at the incident returning with the memory. “I trust you will have him suitably punished,” I said. “He should hang from the walls of Thebes.”

“Majesty, he is beyond our punishment,” said Hapuseneb, “although doubtless his Ka is suffering greatly in the Duat. He was found drowned and the fish have fed on him. Some fishermen discovered his body in the reeds. They took his remains to the House of Death, where he was identified as a priest by the amulet around his neck. This man could tell who it was only by a ring that he recognised.”

“You knew him?” I asked the fellow.

“Yes, Majesty. We entered the p-priesthood together.” He seemed full of fear.

“Tell the Pharaoh what you told me,” ordered Hapuseneb.

“Majesty, he was bribed to speak the words of the oracle,” the young priest said. “A man came to the t-temple, and offered much gold to anyone who would speak what he told them to. I was tempted, but I was too much afraid,” he added. At least he was honest enough to admit that.