Chapter Thirty-Five
THEBES, EGYPT
“Your Majesty?” the plainly dressed, gray-haired woman asks hesitantly. I hear my name, but the heat is thick and viscous and my exhaustion impenetrable. I don’t even know which Hatshepsut I should summon. In any given day, I embody so many roles.
Each day, I start as Amun’s divine wife, rising before the sun to greet him.
I then transform into Neferure’s mother, breaking my fast with her before she begins her daily studies.
The demands of regent for Thutmose III then overtake me; and alongside viziers and officials, I make countless decisions regarding the finances, governance, and rule of our land.
Ensuring the proper instruction of Thutmose III comes into play periodically throughout the day, and I assume my role of his stepmother as I check on his language, writing, history, religion, charioteering, and battle-training lessons.
And now, at day’s end, I must open my throne room to the people, both elite and peasant, to become their queen, answering their questions and giving them the opportunity to see the divine on earth.
By the time the sun begins to set each day, I am weary.
Will there ever come a time when I can lay down my duties and simply be Hatshepsut?
Do I even know who she is anymore? I banish these questions from my mind.
I know they are ill-befitting my station.
It doesn’t matter what I want and need, what matters is the gods’ will for Egypt and my efforts to manifest their will.
Senenmut clears his throat, and I answer the supplicant.
She simply wants to make an offering on behalf of her village.
I invite the older woman to come close to the throne with her basket of goods.
I am buoyed by her energy and goodwill, her stories of her grandchildren and family farm along the Nile.
The wealthy petitioners in line tsk at this familiarity, but I ignore them.
If I am not working toward a better Egypt for all my people, then what purpose do I serve?
This pleasant moment is interrupted by a phalanx of generals marching into the throne room as if it belongs to them.
I stiffen at this presumptuousness, but say nothing.
My beloved father was once a general, I remind myself, and if the rumors are true, he was every bit as bold and brash as the military men standing before me. In his memory, I stay quiet.
They kneel.
Without rising or lifting his eyes from the floor, the general says, “Your Majesty, deepest apologies for interrupting your general audience. If the situation in Kush was not urgent, I would not have presumed.”
At least he’s acknowledging his breach of protocol, I think, because sometimes these male military leaders don’t feel the need for the formalities with me, even though I’m the queen regent.
“What is this Kush situation?” I ask, immediately worried.
Ever since my father conquered their lands, the Kush people have bristled at our rule.
“Another uprising, Your Majesty. Shall we use the same approach the pharaoh chose with the last uprising?”
I flinch at the reference to this action, which Thutmose II suggested but I authorized.
I vowed to myself that such violence would not happen again.
I know I must keep this land that my father fought so hard to fold into Egypt, especially because it is rich in precious minerals. But surely, there is another way.
I need to think. Without the eyes of these men upon me. Without the pressure of the needs of thousands of unseen Egyptian citizens upon me. Without the specter of Kush looming over me.
Abruptly, I stand, causing my scepter to clatter to the stone floor of the dais. “Return at first light and you shall have my answer.”
I retreat to my personal rooms through a private panel connecting to the audience chamber.
A flutter of servants follow me at Nedjem’s command, but I wave them away.
I close the heavy wooden door behind me, and pull off my ceremonial wig, revealing my short hair.
The layers of braids inlaid with faience beads and topped with an intricate gold crown make me hot and itchy.
The fresh air from the courtyard feels impossibly good on my scalp, and I lie back on my crimson, emerald, and gold wooden chaise piled high with pillows.
A knock at the door surprises me. I’d told the servants and guards that I want to be alone, which generally means they’d bar anyone and everyone from approaching my chambers. Nedjem would see to that. Only one person would be permitted to pass.
“Come in, Senenmut,” I call out, not bothering to rise or scramble for my wig. He alone, of all my administrators and officials, sees me without all the trappings of my many roles. More than anyone else, he has seen me.
“Your Majesty.” He enters and gives me a little bow.
“Senenmut, there is no need for formality. It’s only you and me here.” I gesture for him to sit next to me on the chaise. This man is not only the chief administrator under my command and tutor to my daughter, he is my confidante and adviser in all things, loyal to me over all.
He lowers himself next to me, but his body does not relax. No matter how often I invite him to sit at my side, he’s never entirely comfortable so near to me. We do not talk for a long moment.
“Are you well?” he finally asks with concern.
“Not exactly. This riddle of how to handle the Kush uprising weighs upon me. I do not want to react the same way as we did last time.”
“I understand.”
“I’ve been asking myself what the Kush people want, besides the independence we obviously cannot give them. What is prompting them to rise up again? Might we approach this rebellion through some other means than the military force to which the generals always default?”
“They feel as though we are exploiting their resources as if they were Egyptians but not offering the benefits we provide our citizens in return,” he answers.
An elegant, simple solution presents itself to me. But it is one that would require a different tack. The military may not like it, but it might work.
“What if we treated the Kush gold and spices and precious goods as resources for which we trade rather than plunder? And bestow upon the Kush people some of the rights we give our people? While still keeping Kush as part of Egypt, of course.”
His thick eyebrows knit as he muses on my proposal.
I study his face and torso, so familiar in some ways and so mysterious in others.
His gently hooked nose, his dark golden skin, the dip of his hairline on his forehead, the muscular outline of his chest and arms under his linen robe.
He is not handsome in the traditional sense, but his manner and intellect make him far more appealing than any other man in my circle.
“Why don’t you take a wife?” It’s an abrupt change of subject, but I ask the question I hear the servants mutter to each other, the question I’ve turned round and round in my own head.
Egyptian men generally take wives as soon as they’re able economically and physically, even if their natural attraction tends toward other men.
Lineage is legacy, and a man without heirs is a man who may not have an afterlife.
“I could easily find you a beautiful, rich one,” I jest.
He doesn’t speak for a long moment. When he finally answers, he does not meet my gaze, which would be normal for anyone but him. “I have all that I could ever want serving at your side.”
“You needn’t say that, Senenmut. I thought we’d agreed some time ago that we would eschew formality and talk freely. How else would we accomplish anything for Egypt? We’d spend our hours in tiresome pleasantries,” I gently admonish him and then smile.
“I meant every word,” he answers, finally lifting his eyes to meet mine. In those deep brown depths, I see more than the esteem for a queen. I see the affection for a woman.
Does he mean what I think he means? My marital life until now has been at the whim of politics, and my sexual life has been ritualized and witnessed.
For the first time, I wonder what my romantic future could hold.
While I can never marry again—it is forbidden—I have the ability to choose a partner or a lover. Might it be Senenmut?