Chapter Sixty-Three
THEBES, EGYPT
What could possibly be so crucial? Our world rests on a series of carefully planned rituals, meetings, festivals, and rites.
Disruption and urgency do not tend to play a part, as such behavior is not gods-like.
Never before has Thutmose thought it necessary to break from that orchestrated order and summon me.
Senenmut and I race down the cliffside back toward the Nile. Once we cross the river and alight from the royal barge, we rush into the private chamber off the throne room. There Thutmose awaits.
He is not exactly waiting, but pacing. I have never seen my strong, self-possessed co-ruler so flustered and anxious.
Even while heading off on a military campaign, navigating the tricky elite families in Memphis, ensuring the safety of our borders, or leading his own sacred ceremonies in Iunu, he is calm and measured in his bearing. Kingly, even.
“What on earth is happening?” I ask, breathless from dashing through the warren of palace corridors.
Thutmose turns toward me, his eyes bloodshot and his cheeks wet with tears.
Even though his arms are heavily muscled from hours of charioteering, archery, hunting, and rowing, he looks so youthful without his kingly wig and crown.
I am reminded that he is a young man, one with other wives who also gallivants at the harem palace.
Sprinting to him, I grab his shoulders and shake them a bit. “What is wrong? Tell me.”
“It’s Neferure,” he answers in a whisper.
I cannot speak. I cannot ask the necessary next question because I am terrified what Thutmose might tell me. My body begins to shake in fear.
I feel Senenmut at my side, his hand on mine. He takes the reins, asking, “Is Neferure all right?”
“She has been t-taken,” he stammers, barely able to say the word.
This, I hadn’t expected. Death by any number of illnesses, yes. That is the fate of many of our people, and royal blood offers no protection. But a kidnapping?
“What do you mean—taken?” Senenmut asks. To a stranger’s ear, his voice sounds even, but I can hear the panic rising. Neferure is precious to him.
“She is being held by representatives of my grandmother Mutnofret’s people.” Thutmose is barely audible.
“As a prisoner?” I find my voice.
“Yes.”
“What do they want in order to set her free? I’ll pay any price to keep her safe,” I say.
“They”—Thutmose chokes a little, as if the words are stuck in his throat—“they want me to kill you.”
Of course, I think, it comes to this. This rivalry has been a specter throughout my life.The competition between my father Thutmose I’s wives—my mother Ahmes and Thutmose II’s mother Mutnofret—lives on, and while Mutnofret wants to see her grandson on the throne, she doesn’t want to see Ahmes’s daughter there as well.
Or her descendants. So Mutnofret and her relatives—who have their own ties to power as Mutnofret’s father was Ahmose I, a pharaoh that preceded my father but not related to us—undoubtedly want to bolster their family claims to the throne should anything happen to Thutmose III.
By eliminating me and marginalizing my daughter and grandson, I suppose they hope to set up a pharaonic dynasty stemming from Thutmose III’s other wives and children, whose only allegiance is to them.
Senenmut’s hand tightens around mine, and he pulls me behind him. “Kill Hatshepsut? Did you summon the pharaoh—your aunt and stepmother—so that you could put a blade through her?” His voice is a wave of fury about to crest over and around Thutmose.
“If I had planned to kill Hatshepsut, I would have done so already.” Thutmose’s voice no longer trembles with trepidation but with anger at Senenmut’s accusation.
“I called for Hatshepsut so I could inform her of this plot. And find a way to bring Neferure safely home—one that does not involve killing Hatshepsut.”
“Do you have proof that she is safe? And is your son secure?” I ask.
“Yes.” Thutmose nods. “Mutnofret’s relatives sent Neferure’s maid to me with an account of her current well-being. And I have kept Amenemhat at my side ever since I received word.”
I feel a modicum of relief at this news.
“This old fight between your grandmother and my mother, Queen Ahmes, continues on, it seems. I’m guessing that they want to weaken the claim to the throne by any of my descendants by getting rid of me, including Neferure or Amenemhat.
And strengthen their own. But—” I pause, parsing through this argument and seeing the logical flaw, “if that’s the case, won’t Neferure and Amenemhat still be at risk even if I’m dead? ”
“No, because the issue with your kingship—your very life, in fact—has little to do with any lineage issues or old disputes. It seems they simply cannot bear to see a woman on the throne, and they want to prevent it from ever happening again. They are concerned that you will perpetuate this practice by elevating Neferure and positioning her to take your place as co-ruler alongside me or our son.”
Now I understand. Slowly, I say, “And if I am gone, there is no one to elevate Nerferure. Or to demonstrate that it can be done. They see me as some kind of living precedent that they never want repeated.”
Thutmose nods, his eyes sad.
In truth, the notion of readying Neferure to take my role had indeed occurred to me, an idea that I’d only ever discussed with Senenmut.
I’d naively believed that perhaps Egypt was ready to regularly receive women in positions of power.
It seems as though the stability and success that I’d delivered to Egypt—alongside the coffers full of gold, gems, turquoise, ebony, electrum, ivory, and hides; the silos of grain; the abundance of jobs; the health of our fields—is not enough.
It seems the measure of my worth is my gender.
I want to rail against this prejudice and take a stance against them. But I will not sacrifice my daughter and grandson on the altar of a principle.
Retreating to the corner of the room, I slump into a chair. After a long period of silence, a strange calm descends, and a solution comes to me. A terrible, necessary solution.
I rise and walk back toward Thutmose, who continues his pacing in front of the thrones near where Senenmut stands.
How complicated is our relationship, I think.
I am his co-ruler, his mother-in-law, his stepmother, and his aunt.
He could have gotten caught up in the sticky web of our familial controversy, and our exchanges could have easily been fraught and threaded through with acrimony.
Instead, this intelligent and forward-thinking young pharaoh chose to see the possibilities in our partnership and work alongside me.
“There’s only one path forward,” I say, reaching for the hands of the two men. “It will be difficult for you, but it is the only way.”
“What is it?” Senenemut asks, his voice shaking. The calm, brilliant man—my love—sounds terrified and desperate.
“The world must believe that I have indeed died.”
“What?” Thutmose cries out in unison with Senenmut.
“What good will that do?” Thutmose asks.
“If Neferure’s captors believe I’ve died—particularly by your hand, Thutmose—then they’ll believe the threat of female leadership is over. They’ll think not only that I am gone and my threatening example with me, but that you support their position. And you and Neferure and Amenemhat will be safe.”
“No!” Senenmut yells. “There must be another way.”
“I do not see one, my love. And I know you want to protect our daughter and grandson as much as I do.” I squeeze his hand tightly and stare into his eyes. “You must make the announcement and find a body for the mortuary preparations. Then, you must hold the funeral.”
He yells, “Why should we let these threats prevail? Why should your reign be cut short, if not your actual life?”
“Because there will be no end to the threats otherwise, now that they have begun. Because Neferure and Amenemhat’s lives won’t be worth the sand upon which they walk. Because it is the only way to preserve the legacy I began.”
Tears stream down Thutmose’s face. “Is there no other way?”
Shaking my head, I glance over at Senenmut, who is doing his best not to join Thutmose in tears. Raising my eyebrow, I ask him, “Can you withstand this path?”
“Will I be able to see you again?” Senenmut’s voice is tremulous.
“I will have to go into hiding, and I don’t know if it will be possible for you to join me in exile, but perhaps Thutmose”—I glance at my fellow pharaoh—“can somehow arrange for periodic meetings?”
Thutmose nods, and then Senenmut replies, “Then I can bear it.”
His is the most mournful acquiescence I’ve ever heard, and I clasp Senenmut to me.
Tears now stream down both of our faces, and I whisper, “I promise I’ll try to find a way for us to spend the remainder of this life together.
But never forget we will be together in the next.
We will always have our hillside tombs with their view of each other and our beloved Nile. ”
I pull away from Senenmut, wiping my eyes on the sleeve of my linen tunic.
There is no need for formality any longer.
Turning to Thutmose, I summon my power and deliver a final order with the regality of all my roles—past and present—as princess, God’s Wife of Amun, queen, regent, and pharaoh.
“Thutmose, once the period of mourning has ended, you must obliterate my name from my obelisks and temples and palaces. You must erase me from history.”