Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
Marié Heese
Marié
Heese
of Hatshepsut, the female pharaoh who ruled over Upper
and Lower egypt for two decades around 1500 bc.
The
Double
Crown
seCreT wriTings of The female Pharaoh
9 780798 150361
The
Double
Crown
Marié Heese
The
Double
Crown
SECRET WRITINGS OF the Female Pharaoh
ISBN 978-0-7981-5036-1
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 occur
red 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
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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
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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 cap
tives 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
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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. “Hus
band,” 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
20
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
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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 enor
mous 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
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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 can
not. “You must keep your eyes open. Especially those at the back of
your head. You must be vigilant.”
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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.