Читать книгу The Double Crown - Marié Heese - Страница 9

The reign of Hatshepsut year 20:

The first month of Peret [seEd season] day 2

It is a fact that I possess the blood royal, that I am the only one of four children borne by the Great Royal Wife Ahmose to the Pharaoh Thutmose the First, may they live for ever, who grew to adulthood. I am the last of the old royal line that runs through my mother, for my father the Pharaoh, may he live, came to the Double Throne as a great general and it was his marriage to her that made him royal since she was own sister to Pharaoh Amenhotep. Oh yes, I am the entirely legitimate occupant of the throne of the Two Lands. But to be legitimate is not enough for a woman to accede to the throne. She must also be the chosen one. The one the gods would have. And that am I.

For Hathor suckled me, Hapi cradled me, and Apophis spared me for my destiny. Since I was very young when these events occurred I do not myself recall them exactly, but they have been told to me so often that it seems as if I do remember. Perhaps I have some memory of the third and most significant event. The one who knew, who saw all three events as they happened, was the Great Royal Nurse Sitre, known as Inet – the ancient of days who had nursed my siblings and me and later took care of my daughters Neferure and Meryetre-Hatshepsut. She was my witness and unlike many who surround me, particularly now, had no reason whatsoever to lie.

Looking back, I realise that Inet’s tales did much to direct my dreams of greatness. My earliest memories are of her voice telling me stories, always using the same words as the illiterate do and as children indeed demand. She would lisp a little because of her sparse teeth – she had only a few rotted stumps left, the rest ground down by years of chewing gritty bread. Some of her stories were those that all Egyptians know, such as The Tale of the Shipwrecked Sailor, or legends of great battles, or comic stories about animals.

But others concerned me personally and those were the ones that I liked best just as she loved to tell them. She used to nod her head, the plain black wig framing her wizened brown face with its little black eyes like olives in desiccated bread. The nods punctuated her tales as if she were listening to herself and agreeing that yes, that is quite correct, that is exactly how it happened.

Alas, my dear Inet is dead now and her voice is still. Ah, there have been so many deaths. I have seen to it that she is properly buried and well supplied with all the grave goods necessary for a good life in the Fields of the Blessed. Yet although sometimes it seems that her Ka breathes so close by that I feel it upon my cheek, she can no longer bear witness for me. But I can never forget the love she bore me, and her unwavering faith in my destiny.

So I shall set these tales down, just as she told them, for they have significance as regards the legitimacy of my rule over the Black Land. They prove that I am the chosen of the gods. During the time of rest after the midday meal I have some privacy. Usually I rest on a day-bed on the cool, spacious portico overlooking the flower gardens with their splashing fountains at the side of the harem palace in the royal city of Thebes. I shall use that time to write down these accounts. The slaves who bring fruit juices and keep me cool with ostrich feather fans are illiterate. They will not know what writings these are. My bodyguards keep a tactful distance while I rest, although they remain alert.

Tale number one was about Hathor, mother of Horus, foremost of the gods who have held me in their protective embrace all my life. I loved to hear it, for it made me feel that I had been singled out, that I was somehow special to the Goddess. It concerns the first year of my life, in the reign of my late father, may he live, Thutmose the First, year 4.

“Tell me again, about how Hathor suckled me,” I would demand, during the sultry afternoons when everyone in the palace rested but I, being full of energy, did not want to sleep.

“You were a lusty babe,” said Inet. She always said this proudly. “Came into the world kicking and squalling, tight little fists pumping as if ready to fight the world. Such a voice! Such a voice for a newborn! Demanding attention. Demanding food. Frightened the palace doves, you did, sounded like Bastet in full cry.”

“I sounded like the cat goddess,” I said boastfully.

“You know it, little one. A wet nurse was quickly found, the wife of a scribe whose child had died for it was born too soon. She had milk aplenty and she was honoured to be called to the palace.”

“But the human milk was too thin,” I chimed in.

“The human milk was too thin,” agreed Inet, nodding. “You screamed with hunger, hour after hour. You could get no satisfaction from the woman’s breast. And yet she had so much that it dribbled down, wetting her tunic. But what you needed was the milk of the God.”

“Hathor,” I said.

“You know it, little one. The chief physician attending the Great Queen, may she live for ever, advised us to procure cow’s milk for you. It settles heavier in the stomach. It has more strength. I have seen it before,” said Inet. “I have seen it in big, strong baby boys who are very hungry. But you were the first girl child I ever saw who thrived on it.”

“I was suckled by Hathor,” I said with satisfaction.

Of course; it had to be true. When I ordered my temple to be built at Djeser-Djeseru, I had a record placed on the walls showing the cow goddess suckling me.

“It was an omen,” said Inet. “I do believe that you will be under her protection all your life. The Goddess is tender as a mother in caring for those she loves, fierce as a lioness in defending them from danger and evil. She will keep her hand over your head.”

Indeed, I have often felt the arms of the Goddess bearing me up. There have been times in my life when I felt that all my strength was spent; then I pray to Hathor, and she infuses me with new vigour. She watches over me.

I reached out for more ink to begin recording the second of Inet’s tales. At that moment a shadow at the far end of the portico seemed to suddenly solidify. There was no footfall to be heard yet I knew that it was Khani, come to report to me. He is known to the guards and they let him pass.

“Khani,” I said. “Come. I see you.”

He walked quietly across the cool tiles with his characteristic feline lope and stood before me, his three cubits of powerful muscle, dark as polished ebony, blocking out the sun before he bowed.

“Majesty,” he said, in his deep voice, the voice of a bard. “You have eyes in the back of your head.”

“I have need of them,” I said. “And of more eyes scanning the kingdom on my behalf … Eyes that I can trust, such as yours, my faithful guardian.”

“And you may require the support of Hathor also,” he told me. “Inet used to claim that support for you.”

“And Inet was right,” I said. “I have indeed lived in the shelter of Hathor’s vigilance. My sister and two brothers have gone to the gods. But I, beloved of Hathor, I thrived. To this day I am strong and I am never ill.”

“Indeed, Majesty,” agreed Khani. “You are strong.”

There seemed to be reservations in his obsidian eyes.

“What is it?” I asked. “You have bad news?”

He would tell me, I knew, but in his own way. He would marshal his facts with care and tell me first only what he knew to be true. If there was gossip or speculation, he would report that also, but with a warning that it could not be substantiated. I rely greatly on his acute observations and intelligence.

I sent the slaves and the guards away. Everyone in my household knows that Khani is to be trusted. He has been loyal to me ever since he was brought to the Kingdom of the Two Lands as a prisoner of war. Soon after his accession as Pharaoh, my late husband Thutmose the Second, may he live, received news of an uprising in Nubia. Naturally he could not leave the court and the capital when his grasp of the sceptre was so recent. He dispatched an army under the command of his most trusted general, who quelled the rebellion, killed many men and captured the ringleaders.

They also captured Khani, a Nubian prince, son of the Kushite rebel chieftain, and brought him with the other captives to be paraded in the presence of the enthroned Pharaoh. The young prisoner was but one year older than I and I had at that time seen thirteen risings of the Nile. I can never forget that day when I stood beside my husband on a massive dais outside the administrative palace, facing the broad avenue lined with masses of people eager to see the victorious general, the great Ahmose pen-Nekhbet of el-Kab, ride into Thebes with the spoils of war. And the captives.

As the general’s war chariot swept up to the dais, then those of the division commanders, followed by a mule train laden with Nubian gold gleaming in the sun, elephant tusks, ebony, and many bulging sacks filled with more booty, a huge roar went up from the watching crowd. The noise intensified when the soldiers climbed down to make deep obeisances while the charioteers held the horses in check. Some way behind came the infantry, led by the standard bearers, row after row of the flower of Egypt’s men marching to the rhythm of drums and trumpets. I had a sudden thought that we needed more broad avenues in Thebes for great processions. Not only for military parades, but also for the festivals when the god Amen-Ra is brought from his shrine for the people to see. Then I forgot about the God as the captives came into view, greeted by yet louder roars and jeers.

Some of them had been badly injured and were loaded on mule-drawn carts, but several were able to walk and they shuffled along between their captors, urged forwards by prods from spears, their steps hobbled by the chains that bound them. Yet they walked as straight as they were able to, tall men, their dark naked torsos powdered with Theban dust; men who still held their bodies with the swagger of power, men with rings of gold in their ears and hatred in their hooded eyes.

So, I thought, these must be the rebel leaders from the wretched Kush. They should know better than to challenge the dominion of Khemet. Prompted by the soldiers with spears, they fell to their knees in front of the dais and kissed the ground. On the far right, I noticed a young boy, considerably shorter than the rest. He must be about my age, I thought with a shock. Walking into Thebes to meet his death, while I stood on a dais above him, a new life growing beneath my heart.

Indeed, it was at that very moment, when I caught the young prince’s eyes – for prince he surely was, else why had he been brought before the King and not simply executed – it was then that I felt, for the first time, the delicate butterfly tickle of a new babe stirring in my slightly swollen abdomen. I put my hand on it. Perhaps, I thought, it is my son. Coming to life while that one comes to death.

My husband conducted the hearing with great dignity. The captives were prodded to their feet, to face the Pharaoh and hear their fate. They stood impassively. “Hear ye,” he said, “thus Egypt punishes those that question our sovereignty. For we have been given dominion over our vassal states, of which Nubia is one. Therefore you are bound to honour the Pharaoh and obey his laws and pay his tribute. To rebel is treason, and punishment for treason is death.” Screams and ululations went up from the crowd. “You, as leaders of the rebellion, are hereby sentenced to be killed and hung head downwards from the walls of Thebes.” Another roar echoed along the dusty avenue as the sentence was pronounced.

I felt a sudden wave of nausea as I looked at the young prince. He must have expected that he too would be executed, but he showed no fear, standing straight as a young tree. Even then he already had a striking presence. When the sentence was pronounced, he did not flinch. He held his head high and his eyes met mine and did not slide away. One day, I thought, I shall have a son whose courage will match his.

Without planning to, I suddenly found myself speaking. “Husband,” I said, “Pharaoh. I beg a word.”

He turned to me courteously but with some surprise. The ranks of senior advisers and priests ranged below our thrones shifted and shuffled. It was not customary for the Great Royal Wife to speak at such occasions. Yet now that I had begun, I had to continue. “It is of course right that rebels should be punished, and in a manner to deter all who might dream of such actions,” I said. “Pharaoh has dealt with them according to their deserts. But Ma’at demands not merely punishment for those who disturb its order. Ma’at is also justice.” I was glad that my voice did not tremble and that it was bold but not shrill. I raised it so that I might be clearly heard. “And justice,” I said, “includes mercy. There is one young man among the captives who surely had no hand in the planning of this rebellion, who fought, if he did fight, on the orders of his father, as would any young Egyptian in his place. I beg the great Pharaoh to show mercy towards him. Let him not be executed. Please, great Lord. Let him be spared.”

For a long moment, my husband frowned as he deliberated. One or two of the priests were nodding. They seemed to agree with my comment about Ma’at. “Very well,” said Thutmose. “We shall be merciful. The prince is spared.” Now the fickle crowd cheered this pronouncement also.

So Pharaoh gave him life and decreed that he was to be educated and sent back eventually to a position of trust in his own country – with, of course, an outlook favourable to our kingdom. Khani was tutored with the children of the upper classes in Thebes, joined the military and progressed to the rank of Officer Commanding the Division of Sobek, currently quartered in Thebes. Commander Thutmose (my nephew-stepson Thutmose, he who would be King) would have sent Khani back to Nubia long ago, but I insisted that he remain here in Egypt. I tell Thutmose that we have need of him because he is an outstanding trainer of soldiers and he is always able to convert the children of conquered enemies into faithful warriors in the Pharaoh’s army. But in truth I need him because his loyalty is to me. I have need of men whom I can trust absolutely.

When I look at Khani, I remember with great clarity the day when he stood before my husband the King together with the other captives from Nubia. Thinking of that day, it seems to me that we were both no more than children then, but at the time I felt mature. Especially I recall that when the youth inclined his head, it was to me that he bowed, not to the King. So he has always been my loyal supporter and, I think, my friend – perhaps, since Senenmut passed into the Afterlife, may he live, the only true friend that the Pharaoh has.

And now he stood before me, an adult and a soldier, one who spied for me.

“Bad news,” Khani informed me. “It seems that the Mitanni are stirring up trouble on our borders with Canaan, aided by the Hittites.”

“Surely not true,” I said, angrily. “The Mitanni are supposed to act as a buffer between the Black Land and the Hittites. They should be dependable, considering the amount of gold we send them. How accurate is your information?”

Khani just looked at me with his inscrutable obsidian eyes. I sighed. I knew that his sources were always impeccable. If he told me something as a fact, he had checked it carefully.

Of course I have a counsellor who advises me on foreign affairs, one Seni, an elderly bureaucrat who served my late father, may he live, and now faithfully serves me. He is spare of figure and sparing of words, but his advice is always well thought through and precisely expressed, and I pay attention to it. Yet my royal father, Pharaoh Thutmose the First, taught me never to depend upon a single source of information or advice and always to discover what the common people are saying. So I have sources of information that are not known to all. Khani is one of them.

“The Great Commander Thutmose is planning and preparing for a campaign,” he went on. “The intensity of training has increased. He has ordered many horses.”

“I have given no such instructions,” I said furiously.

As Pharaoh I am the absolute head of the armed forces and they may undertake no campaign that I have not decreed should take place. The upstart is angering me seriously. He is assuming powers that he does not have. Of course, it is true that he was crowned. I cannot deny that fact, but it should never have happened.

The young Thutmose, child of my husband Thutmose the Second and Isis, a mere concubine, had been given to the priests to learn the rites, to become himself a priest of Amen and to serve the God. He was no more than a little-regarded juvenile. But when my husband passed into the Afterlife, may he live for ever, the priests suddenly realised that they had an opportunity to control all Egypt. With a little boy they could use as a puppet on the throne, they would have power over the Two Lands such as the priesthood had never had before.

There have always been factions in Egypt, but a single faction had never yet gained overall control. One faction that traditionally opposes the priesthood is the military. Since the Pharaoh is also the Ultimate Commander of the army and usually sides with them, they are extremely powerful. At this moment, the priests of Amen saw their chance to tilt the balance of power in their own favour, and they took it.

So, when one fine day in the temple of Amen-Ra it appeared for all the world as if the choice of the God fell on the child as he stood among the priests who had the care of him, there was a simple explanation for that event and it was not a supernatural one. That much should be obvious to anyone with half an understanding. It was not the child’s doing, of course. He had seen only ten risings of the Nile when my husband died and he did not have the wit to plan and execute such a drama at that age. But the priests did.

During a ceremonial procession in the temple of Amen-Ra that day the gilded barque bearing the God, its carrying poles shouldered by eight strapping priests, paused in its stately circling of the enormous hall. It hesitated, reversed and bowed down in front of the surprised small figure of the child Thutmose, seeming to indicate that the God wanted him to ascend the Double Throne. But there was no truth in that pivotal moment. No mystery. No magic. It was a spectacle thought up and carefully executed by the priesthood. But the country believed the lie. So they crowned him.

Yet I have never acknowledged his supremacy. He is not the chosen of the gods. He does not have the blood royal. He was never inducted into the Mysteries of Osiris as I was, by my late father the Pharaoh, may he live, who intended me to rule. The coronation of the child was a hastily organised, superficial affair: He did not grasp the cobra, nor run around the white walls at Memphis, nor did he shoot off the symbolic arrows.

But they did crown him and it made me sick. I, who had been the Queen of the Two Lands, occupying the throne by my husband’s side, I who had in all but name actually reigned more effectively than that sweet but ineffectual man, I who had the pure blood royal – I was relegated to an inferior position. I would be regent, they said. But everyone knew that the priests would call the tune.

I gritted my teeth and I bided my time. Two years after the misjudged coronation of the little upstart a vision came to me: a vision that proved my incontestable right to the Double Throne. I was shown how my heavenly father, the great god Amen, impregnated my mother, and told her that the child would be a daughter, Hatshepsut – and she would reign. I then took steps to have myself properly crowned; I have worn the Double Crown ever since. I sent the child back to the priests. I insisted that he should remain merely a very junior co-regent, with no independent powers. Later he went to the military and now, in his thirty-second year, he is the Great Commander of the Army and he is angering me.

Although I am a woman, I have been the Son of Horus, the Pharaoh Ma’atkare, Ruler of the Two Lands, for more than twenty years. In that time I have balanced the opposing forces in Egypt in a delicate game of power. I have controlled the priesthood, the nobles, the bureaucrats and the military. I have prevailed because I am able to read men, to charm them when need be, to inspire loyalty, to manipulate and in the final analysis to outwit them. They do not expect a woman to be cleverer than they, and therefore they are at a disadvantage. A woman, yet a king with might and majesty. It has been a potent combination and it has served me well in maintaining the balance of power. I have always enjoyed this game and I have played it adeptly. Yet I am tiring. There have been too many deaths and the wolf pup at Memphis keeps snapping at my heels.

I sighed again.

“Majesty,” said Khani, who had stood silently while I considered his news. He was always able to be still, to be patient. Most men cannot. “You must keep your eyes open. Especially those at the back of your head. You must be vigilant.”

“I always am,” I said shortly. “Why this particular warning? What do you know?”

But clearly he had no specific information to give. “Just be vigilant,” he repeated. “I am due back,” he added. “I was given a document to deliver to the Grand Vizier. But I should not tarry. None saw me come here.”

“A document? From Commander Thutmose?”

He nodded. This too was disturbing. Usually there was no love lost and little communication between those two. Something was decidedly going on.

“Thank you, Khani,” I said. The shadows under the lush trees closed around his disappearing form as he strode away.

I was deeply concerned, too much so to return to my writings. Instead I sat down, knowing that at least one of my pet cats would jump onto my lap. Bastet came at once and settled down, purring. I stroked her creamy fur thoughtfully. She blinked her blue eyes at me. The other one, Sekhmet, has tawny fur and golden eyes like her namesake the lion goddess. She was probably off somewhere looking for mice. Like myself they are both daughters of the sun, but only Bastet has her nurturing qualities; the destructive powers of the sun are to be seen in Sekhmet. She is less companionable but she keeps the vermin down.

Even Bastet did not do much to soothe my troubled spirit. I wished that I had someone to talk to other than a state official. I wished Khani could have stayed. I wished that Inet could have been there with me, assuring me by her repetition of the known and familiar that the world is a safe and predictable place; keeping the threatening forces that I feel closing in on me at bay.

Here endeth the first scroll.

IT IS INDEED an important and a dangerous document that King Hatshepsut has entrusted to me. I am overcome that it should be given to me, a mere assistant scribe, and not to the Chief Royal Scribe. Yet I think I understand why this is the case. First, if it is true that there are those who seek Her Majesty’s life (and I have reason to fear, alas, that this may be so), then they will keep a close watch on all those in her employ and especially those known to have her trust and thought to have ways of influencing her. The Chief Scribe may soon find that documents in his care are confiscated under some pretext or another. But nobody will expect me to have anything worth reading.

Second, I am Her Majesty’s faithful servant and great admirer and she knows that she may depend on me. Indeed, she may be sure of my entire loyalty since already once I almost gave my life for the King. It happened some five years ago. Her Majesty had expressed a wish to sail to her great temple at Djeser-Djeseru, which was built for her by the late great Senenmut; it has a shrine to accommodate the god Amen on his annual procession from Karnak, but it also has a double chapel for King Hatshepsut and her royal father Thutmose the First where she wished to make offerings to her late father’s Ka.

Pharaoh also wished to view some samples of white marble reported to have a beautiful tracery of green veins. It had been unloaded at Djeser-Djeseru, where the ramps for transporting materials were still in place. This unusual marble had apparently been located in the Eastern desert, and if the Pharaoh found it pleasing, orders would be given for extensive quarrying. I was instructed to accompany the group, for I have knowledge of such materials due to the fact that I spent a portion of my training as scribe in a number of quarries.

The journey was not to be a royal progress, just a trip on a simple barge, an opportunity to get away from the pressures of the court and the never-ending demands of governing the kingdom, so it was a fairly small group that set out that day and the atmosphere was informal. Her Majesty reclined on the deck beneath a striped awning, attended by two slave women waving basket-weave fans, for the day was searingly hot. Her ladies-in-waiting were seated around her on cushions, one of them playing a merry air on a long lute. Two bodyguards were on board, but their usual vigilance had relaxed in that seemingly safe situation. They were joking and throwing sticks. We sailed smoothly northwards with the flow of the great river. A light breeze carried the scent of damp earth. The water was the colour of lapis lazuli between the lush, palm-lined green banks. In the shallows small boys played with a bleating goat.

Suddenly the low prow of the barge dipped. A swimmer had approached the boat unseen under the water and had clambered aboard. Moving with the agile grace of a predatory lion, the man leapt past the astonished rowers and onto the deck where the Pharaoh was enthroned. In his hand he clutched a dagger. Only I registered immediately what was happening. I had no time to think, I just acted. I lunged forwards from my seat just below the deck and caught the man’s wrist. He turned on me ferociously and I smelled garlic on his breath. When he struck at me I felt a burning sensation in my arm. We struggled mightily on the swaying boat. I had not the strength to overpower him, for he was powerful and wild with hatred, but I held him at bay. My intervention slowed him sufficiently for the Pharaoh’s bodyguards to come to their senses and assist me.

He was tied up and taken ashore at the first opportunity. It turned out later that he was a farmer who had lost land which he believed to be his in a case before the Grand Vizier some days previously and he blamed the Pharaoh. For his attack on the King he forfeited his life.

As for me, I was bleeding from a gash in my arm, but I accounted the pain as nothing since I had been of service to Her Majesty. She herself attended to me once the attacker had been subdued, stopping up the wound with her own kerchief. Her hands were deft and gentle. I remember that she smelled of myrrh, even after a morning in the sun, and I remember the golden colour of her eyes, looking so closely into mine that I could only blink, and stutter.

“M-Majesty, it’s n-nothing, you should not bother …”

“Of course I must,” she said, in her low, clear voice. “You have been extremely brave. You might have lost your life for mine. I am indebted to you. There, I have tied the kerchief tightly, it should stop the bleeding for now.”

I have it yet. She ordered the barge to be turned around and had me carried to the palace at Thebes where Hapu, the Chief Royal Physician, sewed the lips of the wound together and gave me a potion for the pain. But I was not aware of suffering; I could only relive those moments when Her Majesty had leaned close to me and tended me carefully with her own lovely hands. Since that time, five years ago, I have often been called to the palace. I live to serve the Pharaoh.

I wish that I had skill in portraiture, so that I might paint a picture of Her Majesty, one that would better show than the cold stone what Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s appearance is. But I have skill only in words, and that the official kind. I do not have the eloquence of a bard, for I am a civil servant and accustomed to the writing of lists and dry reports. Yet I have a sharp eye and I miss little.

So I shall set down as accurately as I can what I have noted. The great King is fair of face and form. Her skin is light brown, with a bloom as of apricots; her hair is a wondrous red-gold, touched with henna and braided into many small braids so that it forms an imposing frame for her round and resolute face. I believe it is her own hair and not a wig as many ladies wear over a shaven skull.

Her eyes are most exceptional. They hold one’s gaze and seem to read with a piercing regard what one would rather keep private. They are almond-shaped and the exact colour of a lion’s golden gaze. I have on occasion accompanied my uncle on a hunt and I have seen a lion.

Her hands are small, with tapered fingers, well kept and decorated with henna. Also she has slender and elegant feet. She is quite tall for a woman and she walks with dignity and grace. Further I have noted that although Her Majesty is a god and a king she has the scent of a woman and the ability in passing by to stir a man’s loins.

Her voice is arresting, low and clear. She seldom raises it, but when she does all those within hearing know that it is the voice of power, the voice of authority. She is able to quell a hall full of argumentative men with ease, and I have heard her stir up a multitude of the common people to adulation. Yes, the people of the Two Lands have loved the Pharaoh Hatshepsut and they have worked for her and bowed their heads to her these twenty years. It is not the people who would be rid of her.

Enough, enough. I must store these writings where they will not be discovered by prying eyes.