The Crook and Flail

by L. M. Ironside

  A murmur sounded outside the door. Hatshepsut glanced around for Nehesi, but he was already moving, one hand on his dagger.

  “Who is it?”

  The door guard's answer was hesitant, muffled. “Er – the Lady Iah of Ka-Khem.”

  “No; send her away,” Ahmose said. Her grip tightened on Hatshepsut's hand.

  “Admit her.”

  “Hatshepsut!”

  “What can she do against my guard? I say admit her, Nehesi.”

  He did as he was commanded.

  Iah tottered into the room, her fine dress soiled with some ugly, oily stain. Her face was dark with smudged kohl, the locks of her wig matted. She stared at Hatshepsut for a long, siontဆoclent moment, uncomprehending. Then with a cry she threw herself to the floor, her palms stretched along the ground. A fine-woven bag lay where she had dropped it; a brown stain marred its corner.

  “Rise.”

  “God's Wife. Great Lady,” Iah sobbed, her face still pressed to the floor. Hatshepsut bent to her, guided her upright, folded her in an embrace. “Oh, gods, my daughter, my child!”

  Iah's tears fell upon her shoulder, left their mark on the cloth of the Nemes crown.

  “He brought you to Waset after all.”

  “Yes, Great Lady. He made me come. He promised me that I would see Iset again, see her...” she faltered. “See her crowned.”

  “I know.”

  Nehesi stooped, lifted the bag. He raised an eyebrow, a grim, unspoken question.

  “You brought me a gift, I see,” Hatshepsut said. “How did you do it? Tell me, if the telling isn't too much for you.”

  “We stayed at Nebseny's fine home – the one at the edge of the city, with the fountain in the courtyard. The day after...after the funeral, I was sitting beside the fountain cooling myself when I heard the criers in the street. I heard Ankhhor's name, and held my breath to listen. The criers were moving from home to home, you know how they do. They stood outside Nebseny's gateway and shouted that Ankhhor's life was forfeit. They did not know we were there; they only shouted their business and moved on. But they said Ankhhor had attempted to poison the Great Royal Wife, and that the King's...the King's Mother....”

  “Yes, all right; go on.”

  “I turned to run into the house, for I was frightened, and suddenly Ankhhor was there beside me. He had no remorse, Great Lady. I saw it on his face. His only thought was how he could get out of the city alive. I knew, looking at him, watching the thoughts churning within his heart, that he had no care for my Iset, nor even for me; that he would leave me behind if it came to that, and I would never see my living children again.”

  She buried her face in her hands, drawing wild, panicked breaths. Ahmose moved to her side, stroked her arms until she calmed.

  “I vowed inside my heart that he would not separate me from another of my children, that none of us would be his pawns again. I faced him calmly – the gods know how I found the strength to do it, for inside, my ka screamed Iset's name. But I faced him, and told him, 'We must prepare to leave. Come inside with me; we will disguise ourselves, and when night falls we will make our way to the quay and hire a different ship. We will be gone with the sunrise.'

  “The gods blessed me, for he came along willingly. He was like a black bull going to the slwouဆuaughter, arrogant and unknowing. I opened my chest and began holding up garments, suggesting how to hide our identities. And when he came close, I looped my shawl around his neck and tightened it. He fought; he was strong. But the gods gave me their strength. They did it for Iset's sake. I was stronger.”

  Nehesi opened the bag. Hatshepsut glanced inside; the hand was pale, curled like a leopard's claw.

  “What reward do you seek, Lady Iah?”

  “None,” she replied, eyes downcast. “It is enough to be free of him. It is enough to know that he will take no more of my children for his own ends, and discard their lives like so much meaningless refuse.”

  “All the same, I will see you rewarded.”

  “Then grant me, Great Lady, my husband's wealth. I would use it to restore the temples of Waser and Iset in Ka-Khem, those he allowed to fall into disrepair. I will re-dedicate them in my daughter's name.”

  “It will be as you say. And this thing more: there will always be a place for you at court, Lady Iah – for you and your children. Whenever you wish to stay in Waset, to see your grandson grow, you will have an honored place by my side.”

  “My grandson.”

  “He has Iset's face. Would you see him?”

  Iah's eyes brimmed with tears. She could not speak. Ahmose moved to the door, summoned Little Tut and his nurse. Iah took the Pharaoh into her arms with a cry that tore at Hatshepsut's heart. It was a sound of immeasurable loss and love.

  Senenmut crept back into the chamber. “Great Lady? It is time.”

  She turned to stare at the drapery, suddenly overwhelmed with fear. The hair's-breadth crack between the heavy curtains glowed with light, a forceful red that struck tears into her eyes.

  “Senenmut. I cannot do it.”

  “Certainly you can.” He pulled the final kingly trapping from its chest: the ceremonial false beard, one great lock of braided lapis and gold. He tied it below her chin. She flinched from its stiff, unwieldy weight.

  Iah's pained cry settled into silence, and Hatshepsut heard the voices of scores of people – hundreds of people, gathered in the plaza below the Window. The nobles and priests were there, waiting to see the man she had chosen to reign beside Thutmose.

  “When they look on me they will jeer and spit.”

  “Trust in the work of your steward,” Senenmut said. “You did not choose him because he is a fool.”

  No. I chose him because I love him. Because htheဆe is as the breath of life to me, the brother of my heart. And in the great hall I spoke from my heart's pain, because my sister is dead. Gods save me, I am a fool. “I am acting on my heart's whim,” she said, protesting. “Wine on a fire. Is this maat? I do not know; I cannot see.”

  “And you do not care,” Senenmut whispered.

  Gently, Ahmose took Little Tut from Iah's arms. With the babe on her shoulder she drew the curtain aside. Tut gazed at Hatshepsut with Iset's eyes, trusting and loving. The morning light burst into the room. The crowd cheered, chanted. Their voices pulled her out onto the balcony, into the warm, golden dawn.

  She looked down from a great height; the balcony seemed to rise beneath her, to stretch her higher into the clear new sky. She saw the faces of the nobles clustered below, their eyes and mouths round with shock. The crowd's cheer faltered to a murmur of confusion. Her throat went tight.

  Ahmose stepped to her right, Thutmose riding on her hip. Senenmut appeared to her left, the long gilded box in his arms. He lifted the scarab lid away. Inside, lying on a red silken cushion, lay the dual staffs of the Pharaoh's divine office.

  Amun, if I am your son in truth, turn their hearts to me.

  She took the crook and flail in her trembling hands. She crossed them at her chest, held them before her bared breasts for her people to see.

  Hapuseneb was the first to shout his acclaim, his palms raised high. But quickly the crowd, their hands full of Senenmut's gifts, took up his chant, until the nobles, too, were forced to raise hands and voices in salute.

  The light of the god spilled upon her face, warmed her hands. A ribbon of light ran across the river, touched the distant red cliffs, set them aglow. The god heard their voices as he ascended to the height of heaven. Her name rebounded from the fiery heart of Amun-Re, and the sound of it filled the whole of the Two Lands.

  So said Amun, lord of the Two Lands, before his daughter Hatshepsut: Come to me in peace, daughter of my loins, beloved Maatkare. Thou art the king who takes possession of the diadem on the Throne of Horus of the Living, eternally.

  -inscription from Djeser-Djeseru, mortuary temple of Hatshepsut, fifth king of the Eighteenth Dynasty

  THE END

  of

  THE CROO
K AND FLAIL

  The She-King: Book Two

  The family saga of the Thutmosidespleဆ continues in

  SOVEREIGN OF STARS

  The She-King: Book Three

  Coming in the summer of 2013 from Pettysingle Press.

  For updates on new books, exclusive sneak previews, and special offers for members only, join L. M. Ironside's mailing list (newsletters are infrequent, and your information will be used for no other purpose.)

  Historical Notes

  And here is the part of the novel where I make amends for all the liberties I took with history – or try to, at least.

  It's a funny thing, being a historical novelist. My job is to find some kind of credible balance between truth – or what we may reasonably call “truth” as it applies to events 3500 years gone – and creative, entertaining lies. There are some things known about Hatshepsut and her family and courtiers and many things not known, but reasonably suspected based on the things known of other Pharaohs, other times, other politicians. I am a great lover of history, but also a great lover of story, and it is the responsibility and privilege of the historical novelist to bring long-dead people back to life in order to excite and inspire the reader. This is often a difficult task. Many decisions must be made, many options considered. Often fact must be delicately discarded in favor of entertainment – because, after all, who wants to read a novel without dramatic conflict? Palace intrigue, political peril, battlefield drama, and sexual tension – these are the reasons why a modern reader picks up a historical novel.

  Faithful students of Egyptology no doubt rolled their eyes at the very mention of Senenmut's name. Oh, brother, I could hear them saying as I wrote the Senenmut scenes. Another Hatshepsut novel where she has an affair with her steward. Well, yes. Another one. A forbidden romance between the ruler of the mightiest empire in the world and her humble, common-born servant is quite exciting and romantic, even if in actual history Senenmut was almost certainly not Hatshepsut's lover – although I imagine, based on his astounding list of titles, responsibilities, and honors, that he was quite a fascinating and intelligent man, and all sorts of women probably found themselves in great admiration of his talents, even the She-King. That old “Senenmut and Hatshepsut sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G” trope doesn't appear in Egyptian historical fiction without good reason. Various inscriptions, including in Senenmut's own tomb, describe him as one who variously “gladdened daily the king's [Hatshepsut's] heart,” and even “served in the palace of her heart,” and “saw to all the pleasures of the king.” In a modern western context, this sounds rather romantic –and؇ even somewhat racy. However, I doubt very much that the ancient Egyptians used such phrases in the same context as we.

  Somewhat more indicative (but not by much) of the possible historicity of a Senenmut-Hatshepsut love connection was the especially close relationship Senenmut had with Neferure, and the intriguing lack of any mention of wife or children in Senenmut's tomb. He was careful to include a tribute to his favorite horse in his tomb, but no word on women or children other than his mother, Hatshesput, and Neferure. Virtually every other known Egyptian man's tomb made much of all the people who loved the departed, including spouse and offspring. Senenmut apparently never married. (Either that, or he was a great misogynist to whom women simply did not matter. That seems an unlikely stance for any ancient Egyptian, but especially for one who served the female Pharaoh so devotedly.) These facts have led to casual speculation that perhaps he was the real father of Neferure – and while I find this highly unlikely as real history (Hatshepsut and Senenmut both strike me as too professional and political-minded to engage in such dangerous tomfoolery; adultery was not smiled upon by the Egyptians) it does lend just enough plausibility to make it work quite well as an exciting fictional device. I am the faithful servant of story, as Senenmut was the faithful servant of the king's pleasure.

  Fans of Egyptology will also note my use of Atenism as a plot device. The Aten – the physical, impersonal aspect of the sun, as opposed to the various personal aspects which included Amun, Amun-Re, Re-Horakhty, and more – is best known as the central god and the catalyst for the dramatic if brief political and social revolution known as the Amarna period, which followed the events in The Crook and Flail by some four or five generations. Because the Aten's popularity seems to have surged out of nowhere and then vanished again during the rule of Akhenaten and Nefertiti, it's easy to assume that the Aten was the original creation of Akhenaten. But in fact it was an old but minor god, definitely documented early in the 18th Dynasty and possibly referenced as far back as the 12th

  . The Aten had been around for quite some time, garnering its few followers here and there. I turned to its minor cult when I realized that Ankhhor needed some plausible motivation that would make him heedless of how he offended Amun and the other principal gods of Hatshepsut's time. If he didn't believe in the power of those other gods, he would not balk at attempting any atrocity against the divine royal family. Making Ankhhor an Atenist was the closest I could plausibly come to making him an atheist. (And I feel compelled to point out here that I do not think atheists are any more likely to attempt a royal assassination than anybody else.) And perhaps I have other motivations for establishing the presence of the Aten early in my body of work.

  Iset's song in the garden of the House of Women is a mishmash of two real works of ancient Egyptian poetry: “Your Love Has Penetrated All Within Me” and “I Am a Wild Goose.” A surprising amount of literature from ancient Egypt has been found, including several touching love poems or ballads. The Egyptians were passionate and expressive people; I encourage curious readers to seek out translations of their various stories and songs.

  For all my transgressions against the truth of historoyuth of ry, I hope the reader will forgive me, as I hope Hatshepsut, Senenmut, and the rest of her entourage forgive, looking down from their golden barque.

  Notes on the Language Used

  This novel is set in historical Egypt, about 1500 years before the common era and roughly 1200 years before Alexander the Great conquered the Nile. With the dawning of the Greek period, a shift in the old Egyptian language began. Proper nouns (and, we can assume, other parts of the language) took on a decidedly Greek bent, which today most historians use when referring to ancient Egyptians and their world.

  This presents a bit of a tangle for a historical novelist like myself. Culturally, we are familiar with Greek-influenced names like Thebes, Rameses, and Isis. In fact, even the name Egypt is not Egyptian; it has a long chain of derivations through Greek, Latin, and French. However, the historic people in my novel would have scratched their heads over such foreign words for their various places, people, and gods. And linguistically, the modern English-speaking reader will probably have a difficult time wrapping her head and tongue around such tricky names as Djhtms – an authentic and very common man's name for the time and place where The Crook and Flail is set (rather the equivalent of a Mike or Tom or Jim).

  On the balance, cultural authenticity is important to me, and so I've reverted to ancient Egyptian versions of various proper nouns and other words in the majority of cases. A glossary of ancient Egyptian words used in this book, and their more familiar Greco-English translations, follows.

  In some cases, to avoid headaches and to preserve (I hope) the flow of the narrative, I have kept modernized versions of certain words in spite of their inauthentic nature. Notably, I use Egypt rather than the authentic Kmet. It is a word that instantly evokes the reader's own romantic perceptions of the land and time, whatever those may be, and its presence in the story can only aid my own attempts at world-building. I have opted for the fairly Greeky, English-friendly name Thutmose in place of Djhtms, which is simply a tongue-twister; and the word Pharaoh, which is French in origin (the French have always been enthusiastic Egyptologists) rather than the Egyptian pra'a, simply because Pharaoh is such a familiar word in the mind of a contemporary reader. Wherever possible, I have used “Pharaoh”
sparingly, only to avoid repetitiveness, and have instead opted for the simple translation of “king.” I've also decided, after much flip-flopping, to use the familiar Greek name Horus for the falcon-headed god, rather than the authentic name Horu. The two are close, but in every case reading Horu in my sentences interrupted the flow and tripped me up. Horus flies more smoothly on his falcon wings; ditto for Hathor, who should properly be called Hawet-Hor, but seems to prefer her modernized name.

  As always, I hope the reader appreciates these concessions to historical accuracy and to comfort.

  GLOSSARY

  ankh – the breath of life; the animating spirit that makes humans live

  Annu – Heliopolis

  Anupu – Anubis

  deby – hippopotamus

  Heqa-Khasewet – Hyksos

  Ipet-Isut – “Holy House”; the temple complex at Karnak

  Iset – Isis

  Iteru – Nile

  Iunet – Dendera

  ka – not quite in line with the Western concept of a “soul” or “spirit,” a ka was an individual's vital essence, that which made him or her live.

  maat – A concept difficult for modern Westerners to accurately define: something like righteousness, something like divine order, something like justice. It is to a sense of “God is in His Heaven and all is right with the world” as the native Hawai'ian word aloha is to an overall feeling of affection, pleasure, well-being, and joyful anticipation. It is also the name of the goddess of the concept – the goddess of “what is right.”

  mawat – mother; also used to refer to mother-figures such as nurses

  Medjay – An Egyptian citizen of Nubian descent

  rekhet – people of the common class; peasants

  sepat – nome, or district

  seshep – sphinx

  sesheshet – sistrum; ceremonial rattle