Anhai felt a cold shiver run down her spine. It was one thing to think you might possibly have a memory of a past life, but another to have it confirmed.
“How strange,” she thought, “how strange all the events, so apparently disconnected, that have brought me to this point at this time."
“Have you any memory of Sehel Island?” the Pharaoh was asking. “Can you explain anything of what I experienced: the inscription on the stone, the man on the rock, the woman in the boat, the flowers?"
“Nothing,” Anhai said regretfully. “Nothing."
“Think!” Hatshepsut commanded.
Anhai shook her head. “Majesty,” she said quietly, “even the memories I have told you about were fleeting and disjointed—and I have hardly thought about them in years."
“I will send you to Sehel Island,” Hatshepsut said decisively. “You must go there and look at the inscription. Perhaps it will set the memories in motion again..."
“I cannot promise it will work,” Anhai said anxiously. “They have always come to me. I have never sought them out."
“This time you will seek them, and we shall see what happens."
Anhai bowed her head.
* * * *
While Hatshepsut and Anhai were talking, Senmut, consumed by restless curiosity, returned to his work on Djeser Djeseru. He tried to be patient, but it was not easy.
He watched a huge slab of violet sandstone being hauled across from the ruined temple of Mentuhotep, the eleventh dynasty King who had first built his mortuary temple against the great arc of cliffs. The centuries had tumbled some of the edifice and scattered its stones. The King and his family lay tucked up peacefully enough in their tombs and would not miss the periphery blocks needed for the new and magnificent house Hatshepsut was building to eternity close against his northern shoulder.
The new stone, the white limestone from the south, was being brought by barge along the canal from the river. Day after day the oxen patiently toiled along the towpath, dragging the heavy barges as near as they could come to the site. This day as any other day the mountain rang with the sound of hammers and the shouting of the leaders of the work gangs. To the north he could hear some of the groups singing rhythmically as they inched the blocks into place.
Though the temple was still under construction, the Hathor chapel on the second terrace and the sanctuary of Amun-Ra on the third were already in use. The great cedar doors, bound with copper and covered with gold images and ciphers, that separated the most sacred sanctuary area from the noise and dust of the workmen and the gaze of the unpurified, were shut firm.
On both granite doorjambs stood an image of Hatshepsut with sceptre and mace and right arm raised in gesture of greeting and respect. On the one side she wore the crown of Upper Khemet, and on the other side the crown of Lower Khemet. Above her the standard of her ka proclaimed her eternal nature and the timelessness of her love for her god. On the lintel were two images of her kneeling, offering wine to Amun, with her royal stepson-nephew behind her.
On other thick blocks the image of Hatshepsut knelt again, offering to the god in his sanctuary, while beneath her image the words of Djehuti were inscribed:
Amun-Ra, the Lord of the Thrones of the Two Lands, when thou restest in thy building where thy beauties are worshipped, give Hatshepsut Maat-ka-Ra life, duration and happiness. She has made for thee this building, fine, very great, pure and lasting ...[16]
[16—“Amun-Ra the Lord of the Thrones of the Two Lands...” The Temple of Deir el Bahri, vol. 5.]
The funerary chambers for her father and herself to the south of the Holy of Holies were not yet completed, but on the north side, against the cliff wall, the open chapel to the sun god was frequently used. Hatshepsut had been known to officiate there as priest. Although she believed the great sun god was but one of the many manifestations of Amun, the Hidden One, sometimes it was easier to address them in their separate aspects.
On the great arched lintel inside the sanctuary of Amun-Ra, Hatshepsut and the young prince Men-kheper-Ra knelt before the god enthroned, Hatshepsut on the left offering wine, and Men-kheper-Ra on the right, cakes. Behind them stood their spirit counterparts, honouring the Hidden One throughout eternity. Above them hovered two shimmering, powerful images of the winged sun protected by the royal cobras—the whole scene set among the mysterious and distant stars.
Inside the barrel-vaulted sanctuary itself, Hatshepsut's craftsmen had surpassed themselves. The statue of Amun-Ra waited and watched, a golden image with eyes of lapis lazuli, tall double plumes stiff above his head—the shell into which the spirit of the great god could move at any time.
All around the walls just above floor level, Hatshepsut had insisted that a garden be carved in relief—the image of the garden she had planted on the lower terrace of her temple, but this one to last for all eternity.
Senmut remembered the day they planted the living trees from Punt ... Hatshepsut was in the garden from dawn to dusk, choosing the site for each planting carefully. Senmut could see she was in one of her moods of heightened awareness, a mood in which she felt she was in direct communication with her god, and he kept in the background, only making sure that everyone jumped to her commands even more quickly than usual.
She went into the inmost sanctuary of her temple before first light, and there in the god's chamber carved into the living mountain, by flickering lamplight she asked for his guidance, and received it.
She knew precisely where each tree pit should be dug and how much rich river silt should be poured into it. She was constantly on the move, making sure that each was prepared exactly as she wanted. When the first was ready she stopped work on all the others so that the gardeners could come and stand in a great circle surrounding those who were manoeuvring the tree into place. Although Senmut had made sure the trees that they brought were young and sturdy and that their roots were well-protected in bags of damp earth during the journey, some were beginning to wilt. Hatshepsut prayed over each one of them and particularly over the ones that seemed to be feeling the strain of the uprooting most. She was determined not to lose a single one. Each tree had four gardeners to carry it to its place. There a rhythmic chanting accompanied the unbinding of its roots and the heaving of the great trunk upwards so that it could slide into the pit. Before the rich silt was finally trampled down, Hatshepsut knelt on the earth beside it, and with her own small hands placed a parcel of amulets against the trunk root, speaking words from an ancient spell prayer to ensure that it would grow strong and tall and yield rich incense to her lord. She then covered the amulets with earth, rose and stood back with shining eyes to watch the final buckets of soil being shaken on. The first drops were from a crystal vase of sacred water poured as a libation by the Pharaoh-Priest, “the god's wife", Hatshepsut Maat-ka-Ra. Only after all these things were done was the command given that work should recommence on the other trees. She stood back beside Senmut, her head lifted. He could see by the expression on her face that she was seeing the tree in its full glory, deeply rooted and thriving, and not as it was now, still weak and drooping from the shock of transplantation.
When all the magical and mystical ceremonies were done, his was the practical task of getting water to the garden. There were already two ornamental pools with fish and ducks and water lilies on either side of the entrance to the ramp that led to the second terrace. To assure that these were always filled with water, he had devised an ingenious series of underground earthenware channels leading from the main irrigation ditch that reached back to the nearest canal and ultimately to the river. To have brought water so far into the desert was an achievement of which Senmut could be particularly proud. If his lady wanted a garden in the desert, she would have a garden in the desert! Men were stationed at intervals along the whole length of the ditch and the canal with buckets and pulleys to raise the water to a higher level. From the second terrace could be seen the green cultivated fields of the flood plain beside the river, ending abruptly as the rust-gold sand of the d
ead land took over. Men could be seen working on the double row of sphinxes that lined the avenue to the east shimmering in the heat haze, and behind them the thin dark ridges of the newly dug canal banks. In time reeds would grow there and the green land would encroach a little further towards the stark, steep cliffs—but for the moment every precious drop was hard won and needed for the garden.
At the end of the day of planting, Hatshepsut was exhausted—but too tired to sleep. She sent for Senmut and they talked deep into the night. “Was there ever such a temple since the world first began?” she demanded.
“Never,” he assured her, smiling, thinking how eager she was to do everything better than anyone else just to prove that she had a right to be where she was. He was glad of her ambition, for it gave him an opportunity to stretch his own wings. Who else had come from such unpromising beginnings and, since the great Imhotep, achieved so much? The close and trusted confidant of a pharaoh was no ordinary thing to be. A chance to realise a dream in stone, a temple that would last and bear witness to his genius for ever, was a rare and marvellous opportunity...
But now Senmut prowled the site, growling at his workmen, only occasionally praising what he saw, his mind puzzling about the connection the young woman, Anhai, had with his great hero, Imhotep—wondering what Hatshepsut was saying to her, and what she was saying to Hatshepsut.
* * *
Chapter 10
Senmut made sure he had to travel south to the quarries at Suan before the month was out, and with him he took Anhai and Hatshepsut's daughter, Neferure.
If Anhai had ever had any doubts that her strange visionary experiences of this land when she was living in her own country were true memories, they were gone now. She “remembered” sailing this great river before. She “remembered” watching these cliffs slide past, these islands emerge. When they reached the Suan area, the huge boulders that rose hunched from the waters like the backs of great grey elephants were very familiar to her.
Senmut, watching her face as they reached Sehel Island, caught the fleeting expression of excited recognition before her feelings of puzzlement and self-doubt took over.
“Have you been here before?” he asked quickly.
“Yes. No ... I don't know...” She fought to pull back an incident lurking at the very rim of her memory like the shadowy form of something just out of range of the eye.
Neferure wondered why she had been brought to this desolate place. She suspected her mother had sent her along as a kind of chaperone for Anhai and Senmut. Or maybe it was because she had been growing too close to one of her mother's handsome captains, Amenemheb. No one was sure quite what Hatshepsut had in mind for her daughter. The most logical and traditional thing would be to marry her to Men-kheper-Ra so that they could rule as Pharaoh and Great Royal Wife, the royal bloodline secure, after Hatshepsut's death. But Hatshepsut never did the expected and traditional thing. She had kept her daughter unmarried long past the royal marriage age. Some thought she was grooming her to rule alone asshe herself ruled—but if this was the case, Hatshepsut did not know as much as she should about her daughter. Neferure would never make a good pharaoh. But, like her grandmother, Aah-mes, she would make a good queen. Some feared Hatshepsut would marry her to a powerful commoner, one of her favourites. Bets were taken on whether it would be Senmut or Hapuseneb. But no one entertained the possibility that Hatshepsut would let her daughter marry, for love, a mate of her own choosing. Neferure herself did not expect it, and when she first noticed Amenemheb in Men-kheper-Ra's company she tried to talk herself out of the pounding of her heart and the quick flush that came to her cheeks whenever he looked at her.
He in his turn was not slow to notice the effect he was having on the young princess, and discretely questioned Men-kheper-Ra about the prince's own feelings towards her and if he thought it likely she would one day be his Great Royal Wife. Menk-heper-Ra replied scornfully that he found her pretty but boring, and that he supposed he would have to marry her one day.
Amenemheb knew that if he was to make anything of a relationship with Neferure it would have to be secret. He contrived to meet her in the palace garden one day and hint that he loved her—but added that he knew a liaison was impossible. He then left it up to her to work out what could be done about it. If she married Men-kheper-Ra as a political act, but really loved him, Amenemheb, there would be no end to the advantages he could milk from the situation. But Men-kheper-Ra must first be installed as sole Pharaoh.
Neferure was in turmoil. Up to now she had loved only Senmut and had thought that no future would make her happier than if she were given to him in marriage, old as he was. But Amenemheb was young. His dark and flashing eyes promised her things she had not even dreamed of with Senmut. She loved her mentor, but now she realised it wasn't the love of the body, and if she married him her body would never know satisfaction.
Senmut had been hinting that he would ask her mother for her, and she had led him to believe that she would be very happy with the arrangement. And now? How could she break his heart? She thought it was for love of her he wanted the marriage not because he sought to reinforce his already considerable power in the Two Lands. A few months ago she would have been excited and delighted about this trip. But now itput her in an awkward position. When Senmut took her arm in the old familiar way to point out a kingfisher or heron, she moved away from him and tried to show him by such little movements that things had changed between them.
Senmut noticed nothing. All his thoughts were on the possibility of Anhai being Imhotep's daughter.
Sages taught that there were several different destinations for the traveller after death. Some were almost immediately united with the divine in the highest realms. Others had further journeying to do, further tests and trials, further choices and decisions in a realm that was neither earth nor heaven. Only after passing through these could they progress onward and upward. If they failed these tests and trials, they ceased to exist as separate individuals and fell back into the Void. But some sages taught another destination. The traveller returned to earth, not as a disembodied ka to fly in and out of the tomb, but as an apparently totally new person in a different time and place, born in bodily form of man and woman in the normal way, but carrying the soul of someone who had died and lived before. This was called “reincarnation", and it intrigued Senmut more than any of the other possibilities.
He even wondered if he might be the reborn soul of Imhotep himself, and that was why in Punt, when he had tried to raise the sage's spirit form, he could not do so. But if he was, it disappointed and frustrated him that he could remember nothing. What was the point of being reborn, if you didn't carry memories over from the past life to help you in this? It was true he had risen swiftly and unexpectedly to a powerful position, and it was not only because Hatshepsut desired him. He had always felt that “someone” was helping him, perhaps the god Djehuti, with whom both he and Imhotep had a particular rapport. But might not the alternative explanation be that deep inside he was somehow still carrying Imhotep's knowledge, though on the surface he had apparently forgotten it?
One thing bothered him with this theory. Imhotep was obviously an enlightened being, judging by his achievements on the earth plane at the time of King Djoser—so why had he not ascended at once at death to the higher realms?
“Perhaps,” Hatshepsut had suggested when they discussed it, “it is because Imhotep chose to come back to earth, believing he still had something left to do here."
Senmut hoped that through Anhai he would be able to experience a proper recall of his past life as Imhotep. He had not wanted to bring Neferure, but Hatshepsut had insisted. He had not broached the subject of their marriage yet, and he was sure it was a twinge of jealous anxiety about the beautiful Anhai that made Hatshepsut send her daughter, her deputy, her eyes, to watch over them. She knew Neferure's hero worship was so strong she would never let Senmut out of her sight and allow him to be alone with the foreigner.
Impatiently
he got through the work he had to do at the granite quarries in connection with the second two obelisks Hatshepsut had requested, and hurried the two young women further south to the island where Hatshepsut had seen the inscription. He was disappointed, but not surprised, that Anhai had no more than a twinge of recognition when she first saw the place. He hoped that her memory would fully return when she saw the inscription.
It was hot and Neferure was grumbling at the flies and burning sand underfoot. She couldn't understand why she was expected to walk like a commoner and not be carried in a chair like the princess she was. Senmut insisted on their coming alone to the island. She wished she had not come. The joy of being with Senmut was no longer so intense. He even seemed less interested in her than before. It was not that Anhai attracted him. Neferure could detect no sexual energy between them, but the foreigner absorbed all his attention. He scarcely took his eyes off her face.
Neferure could not see the point of the expedition. As far as she was concerned, whatever happened after death was best dealt with then. She had no wish to know who she had been before or who she would be in the future. The present was quite enough for her to cope with. She dreaded the thought of all those trials she would have to go through in the Other World, and she would rather hear nothing about them.
Look at him, she thought, bounding along like a young buck! For the first time in her life Neferure saw Senmut as ageing, as thickset, as not as handsome as he should be. Amenemheb was so firm and strong and beautiful! Ah, but so unobtainable! Her mother might conceivably consent to her marriage with Senmut instead of to Men-kheper-Ra for political reasons, but never to Amenemheb. She sought out a shady patch beneath a cliff of piled boulders and settled down to wait for the others. She had had quite enough discomfort for one day, and had some dreaming to do.
It took them some time to find the right boulder, in spite of Hatshepsut's instructions.
Hatshepsut: Daughter of Amun Page 15