“Too many years spent scanning the desert,” he laughed. “It changes one’s appearance.”
“It’s more than that,” I said. “I can feel the energy lurking just under your skin, barely contained, as if you’re impatient to be doing something grand.”
“I am!” Thut exclaimed, rising, beginning to pace back and forth in front of me. “But I’m a king who isn’t really allowed to rule. Did you see the Heb–Sed? My Heb–Sed? I played a minor role, secondary to Hatshepsut.”
Thut sounded more bitter than I’d ever heard him. That was not a good sign.
“Frankly, I never understood the need for Hatshepsut to be crowned too, especially when I’d been on the throne for years when she seized power. It’s awkward.” He looked at me sideways. “I suppose if I wanted to push her aside now I could, with the army behind me.”
“Thut!” I exclaimed.
So, while Hatshepsut and Nefer plotted to take Thut’s throne, he was prepared to take Hatshepsut’s. If he did, what would happen to Nefer? Would she raise an army of her own and fight him to claim the throne for herself? Would she surrender without a fight? Would Thut kill Hatshepsut, and her?
“But I won’t, Mery,” Thut assured me.
“Thank the gods!” I whispered.
“Though its galling that instead of concentrating on building an empire I have to worry about uniting the Two Lands at some point. Frankly, sooner would be better than later. Hatshepsut is standing in my way.” He sighed. “But we’ve both studied enough of our history to know what happens when succession becomes uncertain or disputed. My job as king is to maintain maat, not cause chaos.”
“Hatshepsut prides herself on maintaining maat as well,” I said, trying to defuse the sudden tension. I recalled the statue Hatshepsut had commissioned for the Heb–Sed, showing her kneeling and holding a vase decorated with the symbol for stability. She was bare chested, bearded, wearing a male headdress. Her face was ambiguous, not feminine like in the first years of her rule, for the vaguely female statues of her early years had been gradually evolving to portray her now as a man. Even after eight years, there were those who did not accept a female king. They would no doubt flock to Thut’s banner if called upon to do so.
“The Nine Bows have lost their fear of us,” Thut said. He glanced over his shoulder at Hatshepsut’s obelisks. “Those tell you all you need to know. When Hatshepsut erected the first two she covered them entirely with electrum. The two newest are undecorated. From the records the scribes have shown me, the amount of tribute received from the wretches is much diminished in recent years.”
“So is the amount diverted to support Amun’s temple,” I said. “I’ve heard in the audience hall that some tribes in the North and East no longer fully honor their promises to Kemet.”
“You’re right, Mery. My grandfather enforced his will upon the Nine Bows. My father didn’t, and neither does Hatshepsut. So, gradually, tribute has declined, and trade routes have been compromised. Our enemies already have their fingers lightly around our throat. They put them there because no one was watching them.” He lifted his right hand and slowly made a fist. “Soon they will begin to squeeze.”
“I’ve heard Hatshepsut’s councilors talk of this on occasion,” I said. “But I don’t think they fully realize what’s happening. They’re not taking the threat seriously. Perhaps you could convince them…”
Thut snorted. “They don’t listen to anything I have to say. Don’t get me wrong – Hatshepsut has done a marvelous job running Kemet. Even I see that. Her building program here at Ipet–Isut and the restorations of the temples of our ancestors are mighty works. The land is still rich, though not as rich as it should be. But she’s blind to the coming threat.”
“Which is why you’re preparing your army, for the day you must enforce your will,” I said. “Commander Djehuty told me.”
“When that day arrives it will surely come without warning and I’ll have to react to my enemies quickly,” Thut said forcefully. “If it were up to me I’d launch a preemptive strike into Retenu and Setjet right now, nip what I fear will be a massive rebellion in the bud.” He sat beside me again, put his hands on his knees. “But I can’t use the army without Hatshepsut’s concurrence and, as you have said, she sees no need.” He stood and began to pace back and forth again. “It frustrates me, this inaction! I want to make Kemet glorious, Mery, into the most powerful country in the world! For a millennia we were a nation surrounded by tribes. We could exert our will whenever we wanted and none could stand against us. But now the lands beyond our borders are swarming with peoples greedy for territory and wealth, some with their hearts set on conquering the river valley, just as the Chiefs of the Foreign Lands did. I’ll never let that happen. I’ll build up our army until it is invincible, and then I’ll lead it into battle against our enemies. I will not rest until we’ve pushed our influence south into the depths of Wawat and north and east, all the way to the land of the Mitanni, and made those lands subservient to us. I’ll control trade routes, and conquer towns, and build harbors in the north, and garrisons to protect our holdings. I’ll bring the wealth of other lands to Kemet. I’ll use that wealth to build mighty temples to honor the gods, and great granaries and warehouses and cities. I’ll make the whole world bow to us and our gods. And here in Kemet, I’ll make the lives of my people better, so that all will envy my subjects.”
“A vision even grander than you had at Mentuhotep’s temple,” I said, awed, my voice hushed.
“You remember that, Mery?”
“I remember everything you ever told me,” I said.
Thut looked at me appraisingly.
“I only wish that Nefer ruled beside you, as your wife, helping you make your vision come true,” I said.
“That will never happen,” Thut replied, his voice suddenly hard. “My informants at Waset keep me updated about her and her mother’s activities. I know of the power base she’s built up, of the threat she poses to me and my heirs.”
“But Thut – put yourself in Nefer’s place,” I said earnestly. “How would you feel if you’d grown up expecting to be a king’s Great Wife and bear him a son to rule after him, and then suddenly learned he’d taken two wives who were already pregnant? Because that’s exactly what happened to her. When we returned from Punt five years ago…”
“You were in Punt?” he interrupted.
“Me, and Nefer and Aachel,” I said. “For nine months. Nefer returned to Waset planning to defy her mother and give up her position as God’s Wife and her claim to the throne and sail to Mennefer and marry you. But the day we arrived Hatshepsut told Nefer you’d already married and had one child, with another on the way. That changed everything for her. All she’d ever wanted was to be the mother of a king, and suddenly she couldn’t, at least not with you. She felt backed into a corner, abandoned by you, with no other option than to bow to her mother’s will.”
“That was Hatshepsut’s doing,” Thut answered coldly. “If she’d let us marry years earlier, as Father wanted… But she didn’t. As king, I needed heirs. I couldn’t wait. So now I have a son, and someday more.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not Neferure’s spy, or Hatshepsut’s, are you?”
“Of course not, Thut. I love you and I love Nefer. The two of you are headed for a horrible collision. I’m afraid of what’s going to happen – to you both.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “What would you have me do, Mery?”
“Take Nefer as your Great Wife. Now. Promise her the two of you will have a son and you’ll name him your heir. It’s not too late. That will end all this.”
Thut shook his head. “But I already have a son and heir now, Mery. Amenemhat. To do what you suggest, to bypass the firstborn, has never been done before by any king. I can’t. The land’s officials wouldn’t stand for it. Its too late.”
“I wish it wasn’t,” I said sadly. But I knew to press the point further was useless. “Tell me about your family, Thut.”
“Amene
mhat is two years old, and thriving,” he said proudly. “Sitiah is his mother. His older sister Nefertiry hovers over him in the harem, much as I used to hover over you and Neferure. Meryetamun is two as well, my daughter with Meryetre–Hatshepsut. She is unfortunately a sickly child. I worry about her.”
“You were always a good brother to me, even if you weren’t really my brother,” I said.
Thut sat beside me again, took hold of my hands. “I could be more than that, Mery. It’s not too late for us.”
“Oh, Thut. It is.” I couldn’t keep the despair from my voice. And then everything spilled out in a torrent – the frustration, the longing, the emptiness. “Why did you do it, Thut? Why did you give up on Nefer and take other wives? You knew I could never be your wife when you did it. Why did you throw our love away?”
Thut brushed a strand of hair from my face, caressed my cheek. “I’ve never stopped loving you, Mery, not for a single instant. But I have a duty as a king to perpetuate my line – can’t you see that? I married those women fully aware of how it would affect us, knowing you’d never abandon Neferure. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” He slipped an arm around me. “Your skin is golden in this light, Mery.” He scanned my face. “I’ve dreamed of your dark eyes, your red hair, those soft pink lips. All these years apart, and the reality is better than the dream.”
And then he kissed me, for a very long time, with all the passion and love I feared he’d forgotten. Thut still cared for me in spite of everything. My heart was suddenly overflowing, and racing. The love for him banked in my heart flared to life.
“There has to be a way to make this right, for us to be together,” he said.
“Marry Nefer and give her a son. No matter how impossible that seems right now. I can’t come between you.”
“So you still choose Neferure over me, Mery. You’re being foolish and ridiculous.”
I could hear the frustration in his voice, and I didn’t blame him. I was being unreasonable. I knew it.
“I love you. You love me,” Thut said. “We were each others’ first love. Neferure is my rival. Neferure will never be my wife. You won’t marry me because you don’t want to come between Neferure and me. But there’s no ‘us’ for you to come between.”
“You can’t know that, Thut. I believe the gods will see you and Nefer married.”
He stood. “Maybe you’re right, Mery. But I don’t believe it. I’ve loved you for so long. I always will. But maybe its time for me to give up my foolish dream that we’ll ever be together and move on. Maybe you don’t love me as much as I thought you did.”
“I do, Thut…” I protested.
“Then choose me over her,” he demanded.
My long silence was deafening. “I can’t,” I finally whispered.
“Its been good seeing you,” Thut said, his voice cool once more. “Goodbye, Mery.” I saw the hurt in his eyes. He turned and walked away and did not look back at me. His Medjay fell in behind him at the edge of the path.
Once Thut was out of sight I began to cry. I couldn’t help myself. Thut and I had been apart for six awful years and he still wanted me and I still wanted him and I’d rejected him again. He’d given me another chance to be his wife. I could have been at his side forever. But I had chosen Nefer over him again. Was it because I loved her more, or because I knew she needed me more? I couldn’t tell. All I knew was I’d never get another chance to be with Thut. I’d thrown away my final chance for happiness. I’d condemned myself to follow Nefer into a clash that could only end in disaster for her and Thut and me. I’d given up his love to do so. I had no idea how I was going to live with myself from now on.
1458 BC
Regnal Year 22 – Thutmose III; Regnal Year 15 – Hatshepsut
Though not completely unexpected, Hatshepsut’s death threw Waset into turmoil.
She’d been fading for more than two years, despite everything the magicians and physicians had tried to stop her slow decline. First came the tooth abscess; they’d pulled the molar and it now rested in a wooden box shaped like a shrine from Upper Kemet on a shelf in her room. But even after that she’d become progressively weaker and weaker, and had grown obese. I’d hardly recognized her those final months, her bloated appearance so different from the slim young woman who had first taken the position of regent.
Nefer had spent much time with her mother those last years, Hatshepsut detailing the officials Nefer could absolutely rely on in her future quest to take the throne. Nefer had also spent much time with the spies Hatshepsut had placed in Thut’s court in Mennefer, learning from them all she could about his strengths and weaknesses. Support throughout the kingdom for Nefer, at least in the South, was solid; all Nefer really lacked to oppose Thut was an army, and Hatshepsut had ensured there were enough funds set aside in the treasury to raise one. I listened those years to their discussions, watched their machinations, helplessly, as Nefer moved ever closer towards an inevitable clash with Thut.
Women began wailing outside Hatshepsut’s darkened bedroom the moment Vizier Aametshu announced she had flown to heaven. Their cries spread through the per’aa, and then the city beyond. Nefer sat on the edge of her mother’s bed, its curtains pulled open, and held Hatshepsut’s cold hand and sobbed. I sat beside Nefer with my arm around her. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I too had loved Hatshepsut, in spite of everything, for she had been good to me. Hapuseneb and Mahu chanted softly at the foot of the bed while Hori passed incense over Hatshepsut’s body. Her head lay on a carved ebony headrest, and her nails were painted red and black. She was just a few years over forty. A multitude of councilors gazed down at her, each sorrowing in his own way.
It might have been disease that killed Hatshepsut after twenty–two years as regent and king, I thought, but the light had died in her eyes two years before, when Senenmut passed away. I still remembered Hatshepsut crying inconsolably in Nefer’s arms after his funeral in the tomb Senenmut had built for himself beneath Djeser Djeseru. There, next to the coffin sealed inside a sarcophagus, resting under a ceiling richly painted with the constellations of the night sky, Hatshepsut had finally confessed her love for Senenmut to us, of her wish that she could have married him, of her frustration that his status as commoner would have cost her the throne. I had guessed at that love long before, of course. Why else would Hatshepsut have let Senenmut commission so many statues of himself – twenty–five that I knew of – and depict himself in multiple places within her own monuments? Many of the images were ground breaking – the block statues depicting Senenmut as Nefer’s tutor in particular. He’d been the first commoner shown offering a sacred sistrum to a god, the first holding a surveyor’s rope, the first holding a naos shrine. An image of him adoring Hatshepsut was even inscribed behind a doorjamb in Djeser Djeseru. I’d completely understood Hatshepsut’s sorrow. After all, I too had denied myself the man I loved, not for power and position as she had, but out of love for her daughter. Hatshepsut’s need for power and her dream of Nefer succeeding her had brought suffering to Nefer too, for Hatshepsut had denied her daughter marriage to Thut. How much happier all our lives would have been if they’d been allowed to follow their father’s wishes. As for me, my love for Thut no longer mattered. He and I hadn’t spoken a single time in the seven years since his Heb–Sed. It was inconceivable that he still cared for me, after how I’d rejected him a final time, after how we’d left things.
Nefer, too, had been devastated by Senenmut’s death. He truly had been a second father to her, her guardian before he was her tutor, closer to her than her real father had been, and with her twice as long. Most of what she knew he’d taught her. He’d counseled her, cared for her, watched over her. The statues of the two of them together he’d commissioned spoke of the closeness of their relationship – the statues were unique, because for the first time in Kemet’s history they portrayed a royal and non–royal together, a non–royal touching a royal, and a non–royal larger than the royal. Even now, I thought, Nefer hadn’t
fully recovered from his passing. With her mother and Senenmut both dead, she now had only me and Aachel to rely on. If there was a silver lining to my rejection of Thut, it was that Nefer would not be alone.
After nearly an hour Vizier Aametshu finally spoke, a bit reluctantly. “Forgive me, Majesty, but there is an urgent matter we must attend to.”
Nefer looked up at the vizier, brushed tears from her cheeks. Her dark eyes glistened; her long lashes were wet.
“As soon as your half–brother learns of your mother’s death, he will march on Waset to claim his throne,” the vizier continued. “I realize you must mourn your mother, but you do not have the luxury to do so just yet.”
“What would you have me do, Vizier?” Nefer asked sorrowfully.
“You must declare yourself right now – will you challenge Thutmose for the kingship?”
I rose and moved from the bed to stand outside the ring of advisors. I had no place in this frightening discussion. They were talking about launching a rebellion and destroying maat and taking the kingship from the man I loved. As far as I knew, that was still Nefer’s plan, as it had been since our return from Punt, as she had expressed on the quay the night she’d told Hori he’d be high priest, as all her activities had pointed to these past twelve years.
But now all those discussions were no longer theoretical. Whatever choice Nefer made today, there would be consequences – for her, for the men in this room, for Thut, for the people of Kemet. Her shoulders sagged a bit, as if a great weight had just descended on them. I could sense the indecision on her face. So could her advisors. I saw concern in their eyes.
“Do not answer hastily, Majesty,” Aametshu said.
His words reminded me of Hatshepsut’s, when she’d told Nefer she didn’t know her own mind when it came to the kingship.
“Do not be quick to reject power, Majesty,” Chancellor Neshi interjected.
Did they think she would turn them down? I hoped she would.
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