by Marié Heese
“Then is Pharaoh’s servant glad,” said Nehsi, who can at times be suave, for a bluff soldier. “Majesty, we have also brought some visitors from Punt. They insisted on coming along to see for themselves the great land of Egypt from which they are all ruled, and to see with their own eyes the greatness of Your Majesty.”
“Bid them welcome,” I said. I now saw the small group of rather bedraggled-looking strangers, garbed in beads and loincloths, who had disembarked from the lead ship and followed, hesitantly, behind the soldiers bearing gifts. “But will they understand? What language do they speak?”
“Some of them understand the tongue of Nubia,” explained Nehsi, “they interpret to the king.”
“Very well, then. Tell them that they shall be our honoured guests, but when they wish to return to their own land, we shall help them.”
“Thank you, Majesty.”
The beast snarled again.
“Nehsi, what animal is that?”
“It is a panther, a special gift to the Pharaoh from the Chiefs of Punt.”
“It is beautiful,” I said. The handler brought it forwards, until I could smell its feral scent in the hot air. Its sleek black sides rippled in the sunlight. Golden eyes stared into mine. It had a look of scorn, I fancied. You will never own me, it seemed to say. I am your master, as you will discover if ever I am unleashed. I shivered. “We should move on to the palace,” I said. “Please invite all these people to the banquet. See to the animals also.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
The cargo that the fleet had brought was unloaded and indeed, there were many wondrous goods. In addition to the precious stuffs, there were extraordinary animals, and a large herd of cattle that lowed piteously as they tramped the streets of Thebes. But the best of all were the incense and myrrh trees. Now we would be able to make our own sweet-smelling unguents, using the best ingredients in the world. And I could at last have the garden around my mortuary temple completed as I had promised the God.
Being the dutiful daughter of Amen, I dedicated the best of the goods to my heavenly father. The God was brought forth from his shrine to the palace in his golden barque to receive the offerings. Senenmut and Nehsi stood by my side as I proudly laid the items at the feet of the God. I had the scene recorded on the walls of my mortuary temple at Djeser-Djeseru, where it may yet be read: The King himself, King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Ma’atkare, takes the valuable things of the divine land of Punt, offering the gifts of the southern countries, the tributes from the wretched Kush, the treasures of gold and precious stones to Amen-Ra, the Lord of the Double Throne. The King Ma’atkare lives for ever, she is full of joy, she rules over Khemet like Ra eternally.
I was happy that I had been able to carry out the instructions of the God, but more than that, I felt that the amazing success of the expedition had vindicated my reign. Surely, I thought, it was now abundantly clear that I, the female Pharaoh, was not some unnatural being; that I had not angered the gods and that I truly had maintained Ma’at.
Shortly after the fleet had returned from Punt, Meryetre went into labour. It was long and hard. I was extremely worried, remembering my little son who had not breathed. I gave plenty of gold to the priests to ensure that they would say prayers and make offerings, and I myself prayed and offered sacrifices, especially to the hippopotamus god Taueret, the protective deity of expectant mothers and women in childbirth. I could not pay attention to my daily tasks and left everything to Hapuseneb. For one long night and an even longer day, I was not the Pharaoh; I was a mother and a grandmother-in-waiting and I was distraught. Inet had died some years before, so we missed her loving support.
Hapu of course was by Meryetre’s side, also the one who sees to women’s matters in the palace; there were priests to chant the incantations and shake the sistrums and there were the women who were versed in childbirth. I was useless and powerless in that situation and I liked it not. I could do little else but pray, and wait.
Meryetre surprised me. My self-centred daughter, who was continually dissatisfied with life and ready to whine, did not utter a single complaint. When the pains came thick and fast, racking her stocky frame, she emitted low, guttural groans; in between she gasped for breath and panted shallowly; she swung her head from side to side, staring at me like a cow I once saw labouring when I was a child and had gone into the fields with my brothers, dumb with pain and effort; but she did not complain. Although I had had a fairly hard time birthing her, it was nothing compared to this, and my other birthings had been relatively easy. She struggled on with a kind of animal endurance and courage that I could not, I think, have matched. I looked in often, and hardly slept myself.
Towards the beginning of the second night, Hapu came to me, his round face slick with perspiration. It was the second month of Akhet and the weather was hot. “Majesty,” he said, drops falling to the floor as he made an obeisance, “if the child does not emerge soon we shall have to remove it. Do we have permission to do this? It is a dangerous procedure, especially for the mother, but it may be the only way.”
“Do you mean to … to cut her …” I had heard of such operations, but I had never actually known any woman who had been so treated.
“Yes, Majesty. We will cut across the abdomen and remove the babe. We will then sew up the wound as we do for soldiers on the battlefield. But there will be much blood. And afterwards there may be fever. I do not know … I cannot tell …” He was sorely distressed.
“Whether she will live. I know.”
“Or the babe,” he added, miserably. “The risks are great.”
“Well, if you must … if there is no other way … then it will have to be done.”
He nodded. “We will wait just a little while longer,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “The women are making her walk, in between squatting on the bricks. Perhaps the child can still come naturally. It should be a lusty babe. A big one, to have given this much trouble.”
“If it breathes,” I said. I went into the birthing chamber with him. If it were to be done, I would stand by. Two more physicians had arrived, and the priests who were chanting prayers and incantations in the background intensified their volume.
“The princess should lie down now,” Hapu instructed the women. They glared at him, but assisted Meryetre to a wooden bed. She staggered, breathing out on moans, and almost fell as we eased her down. I leaned over her hugely swollen belly and took both her hands. She gripped them so hard that I grunted. I inhaled her sour sweat that overpowered the incense in the room. I felt the spasms rack her in a vicious, inexorable rhythm as the babe surged towards the light.
Finally, just before the physicians were about to make the incision, Meryetre gave a great cry and the child came forth. The women caught it, tied the cord and cut it free. It gave a loud squall. Yes, like me, it came into the world kicking and squalling, tight little fists pumping as if ready to fight the world. It did indeed sound like Bastet in full cry, as Inet used to say of me. And it was a boy. She had produced a Pharaoh for the Black Land.
“Praise be to Taueret and to all the gods,” I said fervently. I took the child into my arms. He was wet and slithery and his head was covered with something white and sticky. His eyes were scrunched shut and he yelled deafeningly. But I would not let the women take him away. “See to his mother,” I told them. “I will hold him for a while. Let him grow calm. Then you may go and bathe him. Give me a linen wrap.”
They did not like it, but they could not gainsay me. I wrapped the angry little being and went to sit on a large chair padded with cushions in the corner of the room. While the women were busy with Meryetre, I held the child, crooning softly.
I sang to him:
“Be quiet, little one. Be at rest.
You have come to the Black Land.
You have a mother who loves you,
You have a father who will love you,
You have a grandmother whose most precious thing you are.
Be quiet, little one. Be
at rest.”
Soon he did become calm. I gave him a finger and he gripped it firmly. Oh yes, I thought. Indeed a lusty babe. Khnum had fashioned his tiny body most beautifully on his potter’s wheel. May his Ka have been fashioned equally well. I held him up against my breast and patted his back. He snuffled in my neck and went to sleep.
As soon as she had been washed and settled on her bed, Meryetre demanded to see her child. I took him in and laid him on her chest. Her face was swollen with effort, but she smiled proudly when she looked at me across the small form. “I have a strong boy child,” she said, and sighed with satisfaction.
“Yes. You have done well, my child. You have been brave.”
She smiled a tired smile.
“You should sleep now.”
The women bustled over and removed the babe. Hapu brought her a draught of medication. “This will ease you, Ma’am,” he said. “You will have many aches and pains for the next few days.” She took it obediently. Already her eyes were closed. She was clearly exhausted.
I invited the physician to sit down with me in an antechamber and share some bread and watered wine. He looked close to exhaustion himself and his hands shook as he helped himself.
“Hapu, you have done well,” I said.
He nodded. “I was much afeard,” he confessed, munching. “We were like to have lost them both.”
“But you triumphed.”
He sighed. “So often we do not. There is much, much more to know about sickness and healing than we can even imagine, I think. Why is it that sometimes we can wrest the Ka from the clutches of the devils who would carry it off, and at other times our best efforts do not prevail?”
“We cannot know,” I said.
“I believe that healing has more to do with the power of the Ka itself than with anything that a physician does,” he told me. “If it is determined not to leave the body, often it does stay, even though the body is extremely sick. I think that if we knew more about the Ka, we would be better healers.”
“Yet you are gifted at healing, Hapu. I too dreamed of being a healer, in my way. I have tried to bind the wounds of Khemet inflicted by the Hyksos. I have tried to make the Black Land whole again.”
“Majesty has indeed restored the temples across the land,” said Hapu, giving a little belch.
“Why did you become a physician? Was it your father’s profession?” I have always liked to converse with someone who is good at what he does.
“Yes, but it was also my own desire,” said Hapu, sipping some watered wine. “I can smell devils, Majesty. I mean the kind that make one ill. It is useful for a physician.”
It would be useful for a Pharaoh too, I thought. “What do devils smell like?”
“Not all the same,” said Hapu. “Some smell sourish, some bitter. Yet others smell sweet. One can choose the right charms and medications, depending on the smell.”
“Sweet? You mean, like myrrh?”
“No. A kind of rotten sweet.” He shuddered but it did not stop him from taking a big bite of bread stuffed with mint. “A person into whose body a sweet-smelling devil has crawled will go to the gods without a doubt.”
“Can you smell gods as well?” I asked.
“No. Only devils. Perhaps it is better to understand devils. I have thought it might be dangerous to understand the gods.” He looked at me with bleary eyes. “Majesty should rest now.”
“Thank you, Hapu. I will lie down as soon as I have made offerings of thanksgiving to the gods. You shall have some debens of gold for this night’s work.”
“Majesty is kind.” He made an obeisance, swaying with weariness.
By this time it was early morning and time for the dawn rituals. I decided that I would go myself to the temple of Amen instead of leaving it to the priests and I would give thanks for the boy child who had been safely delivered this night. When the carriers set me down and I alighted from my sedan chair in front of the huge pylon entrance, I stood still for a moment, savouring the crisp air with its scent of wood smoke. I looked up at the pale blue expanse of sky arching over the city. And there it was, as I had known it must be: a falcon, circling lazily far overhead.
Yes. It was an omen. I had held another Living Horus in my arms. He would reign upon earth and he would wear the white crown and the red crown on the throne of Geb and smite the enemies of Egypt. He would be the strong Bull, Appearing in Truth, the son of Ra. It would come to pass.
Here endeth the eighteenth scroll.
I have had a tale from Ahmose that is causing me sleepless nights. This time it concerns General Khani, who is a great favourite with Her Majesty and I know has her complete trust. That makes it even more difficult to know what best to do. I am greatly disturbed, for the last time I passed on information from Ahmose an innocent man died.
In truth, I do not even think this report can be designated as information. It is only a rumour and it is based wholly on hearsay, having passed from someone else to Ahmose to me. So quite possibly it has been distorted, or it may worthless to begin with. Yet it is such a dreadful rumour that were it true … well, I do not like to think of it.
This is what Ahmose had to tell me. He slid into his seat opposite me at the tavern obviously bursting with news. As soon as we had our beer in hand, he leaned forwards and whispered conspiratorially: “I have a juicy rumour for you today, brother!”
“What is it?” I asked, warily.
“You know that the Division of Sobek is quartered here in Thebes as we speak?”
“Yes, I know. General Khani’s division. I used to see him at the palace sometimes, before he departed to the North with two other divisions.”
“Some of the soldiers in the barracks here in Thebes are talking sedition,” whispered Ahmose.
“Sedition? What are they saying?” I felt positively ill. “Have you actually heard them, yourself?”
“Well, no, but I gamble with a group of men which includes one who knows the soldiers. He tells me that they are saying that promotion has gone to General Khani’s head. That he now feels he should be the Great Commander of the Army instead of Commander Thutmose. That he is laying plans to eliminate the Commander by arranging for him to die in the next battle by a mercenary’s hand.”
“But Khani has always been a most exemplary soldier. Why should he now …”
“But that is not all they say,” whispered Ahmose, his scarred face contorted with glee. The man is an inveterate gossip and I am sorry that I ever became involved with him. I do not want to hear these things. “They say that this will be merely a preliminary to General Khani’s ultimate ambition, which is to eliminate King Ma’atkare Hatshepsut also …”
I drew in a sharp, hissing breath.
“Hush, brother, do not exclaim … to become the first Nubian on the Double Throne, and to consolidate the empire of Egypt with his country, after which he will march to the Euphrates and subjugate all of Egypt’s vassal lands that are currently restive in the north-east. And he will reign over the greatest empire ever seen.”
There. I have written it. And reading it over, I fear, I greatly fear it sounds as if it might well be true. By the Ka of Thoth, it would be a magnificent revenge for all the times the Egyptian soldiers have quelled rebellions by the wretched Nubians, for the massacre in which all of General Khani’s relatives were killed, and in particular for the execution of his father as a rebel when they were brought to the Black Land in chains. Nor would it be the first time that a general in the army becomes the Pharaoh. There are precedents. Also, for the Great Commander and the Pharaoh to be one and the same would consolidate enormous power in one person. I can see that it would seem highly desirable to a man of ambition, and General Khani is, I believe, an ambitious man.
Yet for all its plausibility it remains a rumour and nothing else. I cannot in good conscience pass it on. Or not before I have at least heard it from more than one source. This could cause far, far greater trouble than the previous rumour. This could be perfectly disastrous.
Maybe I should just … just warn Her Majesty to have a care, without stating anything specific. Or perhaps it would be best to remain silent altogether while the Great Commander Thutmose is away in the South and General Khani in the North. When they return … then we shall see. Yes, we shall see.
THE NINETEENTH SCROLL
The reign of Hatshepsut year 13
The wonderful plants that the expedition from Punt had brought were exactly what were needed to complete the gardens at Djeser-Djeseru in a manner pleasing to Amen-Ra. Among many other treasures, Nehsi had brought back baskets of incense and myrrh, but to my mind the most precious things were thirty incense trees, half of them frankincense and half myrrh, which would provide us with the precious resins required to manufacture excellent incense ourselves.
When the new plants arrived from Punt, the gardens surrounding my mortuary temple were already superb. As each terrace was completed, from the topmost one down, gardens had been laid out and planted on either side. Trees that had been planted when building began – sycamore, acacia, tamarisk and willow – had grown to a good height. Ornamental ponds stocked with fish and waterfowl had been made, around which bulrushes and lotus lilies flourished. The green oasis so created soon attracted a myriad of colourful birds, butterflies, and plenty of frogs. The new incense trees were planted in the gardens with great care, providing the finishing touch to a glorious creation. The whole was enclosed in a thick limestone wall with an ornamental gate.
In the thirteenth year of my reign the temple at Djeser-Djeseru was at last complete. Directly after the expedition from Punt had landed, I had given orders that the history of this great undertaking be carved in relief upon the temple walls. The artists who did the work were two young men who had actually been members of the expedition, and they depicted the events and the people involved with amazing liveliness. The large numbers of colossal sculptures of my majesty had been completed and were in place.