The Double Crown: Secret Writings of the Female Pharaoh Page 15

  “We shall trap them in a pincer and crack them like a nut,” I said excitedly.

  “Majesty,” ventured Pen-Nekhbet, “will you not content yourself with a position high upon the ridge, from where …”

  “I will ride with the other chariots at dawn,” I told him curtly. “Pharaoh has spoken.”

  The night wind was as cold as the breath of Seth. The moon was almost full and cast an eerie bluish light over the scene. Around our tiny tents the limitless desert stretched. A distant rumbling could be heard; it was the voice of Hapi roaring through the rocky cleft. Occasionally a horse neighed. Otherwise silence reigned. The officers had departed and, except for the ever vigilant royal guards outside the tent, I was alone. I had told my attendant to go to sleep and she lay curled up on the mat beside my cot, breathing evenly.

  If ever there was a time to commune with the gods, I thought, it is now. Standing there in the desert I turned my face to the night sky, which glittered with a myriad points of light. Even now Amen-Ra was traversing the Netherworld in his solar barque, evading and conquering evil spirits and the serpent Apophis, to emerge victorious and powerful enough to recreate the universe in the morning. I had dedicated this expedition to my heavenly father and I had to believe that we had his support. Yet at that moment he seemed to be very distant, perhaps too preoccupied to pay attention to his earthly daughter in her hour of need. This was not a time to pray to Hathor, goddess of love, nor to Hapi the bountiful. This was a time to entreat the support of Sekhmet, the lion goddess of war, daughter of the sun as I was myself, and destroyer of men. I knelt on the cold and sharply gritty sand. Be thou with me tomorrow, Sekhmet, I prayed. Uphold my courage and resolve, and strengthen my arm. Grant us victory.

  I slept fitfully and awoke before the dawn. As the sky began to lighten, the Braves of the King were forming up. Orders were snapped out. One by one the chariots rolled into line, drivers muttering to the horses, wheels grating on the sand. Soon I had taken my place beside Nofru, clad in my battle dress, the Pharoah’s blue leather helmet on my head. The horses wore their protective leather quilts. I had my bow, the quiver strapped to my back, and Nofru had an axe stuck into his belt. He and I each wore a dagger strapped to our left arm. I cast a glance over my shoulder and noted the rump of the infantry fanning out.

  General Pen-Nekhbet’s chariot drove up. “The other arm of the pincer is in place,” he told me. “A rider has confirmed it. Enemy scouts have discovered our presence and they prepare for combat. We will move forwards slowly until we have them in sight. Then the chariots will lead the charge at the trumpet call. Majesty …”

  “I am ready,” I said. My knees were shaking, but despite this I felt strangely calm. Still Amen-Ra had not ascended into the sky, but a pale wash of light across the desert announced that this was imminent. The host of warriors began to move inexorably forwards, a tide of men rolling across the sand like the waters of the Nile. As we breasted the rocky ridge, we could see the enemy. They had ringed the base of the fort with their tents. Westward of their encampment lay a stony stretch of desert, and there they had lined up, bowmen in position, a phalanx of dark figures motionless and ominous in the half-light.

  Now the shining rim of the God’s solar barque showed above the horizon, flooding the plain with brightness. At that moment our trumpets sounded the attack. I took this as a good omen and my heart leaped in me. I heard Pen-Nekhbet’s shouted orders to advance and then all the chariots picked up speed to sweep across the plain and loose off a first hail of arrows. Mine lurched as the left wheel struck an obstacle, but Nofru had soon righted us and held the horses on track. A cloud of dust behind the crouching Nubians told me that the Shock Troops were falling upon them from the rear. I heard myself screaming as we tore across the sand: “Khemet! Khemet!” I fixed my eyes on one of their men and shot my first arrow, but we were moving so swiftly amid the churning dust that I could not follow its path.

  A howling as of the damned souls in the Duat broke from the barbarian hordes; it seemed to be a battle cry and it caused the hair on my neck to stand on end. Then our infantry were engulfed by a raging river of violence, as the desperate barbarians, set upon on all sides, fought with the utmost strength and savagery and the Egyptians battled to overcome them. Nofru deftly wheeled the chariot around. His control of the horses was superb. We melded into a fine team as he guided the chariot away from the thickest of the fray and circled the perimeter so that I was able to target the enemy and loose off accurate shots. Several of the enemy fell to my arrows.

  On the fighting went amid the boiling dust, as cursing men battered and tore at each other; the wounded shrieked and moaned as hacked and broken bodies began to cover the ground and blood flowed like recklessly spilled wine. Chariots were smashed and frantic horses whinnied and screamed in terror and pain. Although Nofru kept me out of the heaviest fighting, I could see that arrows and lances were no longer of much use. Now it was grim hand-to-hand combat with axes and daggers; it was chop and thrust and cut and slash. No quarter asked or given. The stench of horse dung mingled with the metallic odour of blood in the thickening air. It was fast growing unbearably hot as the sun beat down upon the plain.

  As the struggle surged to and fro, backing up in whirls and eddies, I had no idea who was gaining the upper hand. For all I knew I had led the troops to a dire defeat. Panting, Nofru drew the horses to a standstill; an arrow from the outskirts of the fray had grazed his forehead and blood was running into his eyes. He wiped them with the back of his wrist. For a breathless interval I seemed to be in a small pool of quiet on the outer edge of it all. Then something whistled past my ear and I saw that a short spear hurled out of the mêlée had pierced his neck. Hot blood spurted over my face as he choked and died, the reins falling slack from his suddenly limp hands. Fury gave me the strength to grab them, steady the horses, and tug his axe from his belt with my other hand. I saw a figure detach itself from the wheeling masses and run towards me, spear in hand.

  In that moment I was no longer Hatshepsut. I became as one possessed. I was Sekhmet, daughter of the sun, goddess of war, furious and invincible. I licked Nofru’s blood from my lips. I would avenge him. I would have more blood. I hurled the axe at the running man as my brothers had taught me to throw hunting sticks. It struck him in the chest and he dropped to the ground, blood spurting from the gaping wound. Now another attacker came speeding towards me in a low crouch. I snatched my dagger from its strap and threw it in the same manner. It struck the warrior in the eye and he too fell. I howled with glee.

  Next moment two Braves of the King had leaped to my side. One vaulted into the chariot, pushing out the lifeless body of Nofru with scant ceremony. “Majesty, we are winning,” he panted, “but now they will target you. We must remove you from the battle ground.” Despite my protests, he grabbed Nofru’s whip and lashed the weary horses into a trot and then a gallop. We swept around the plain and up to the fort, where we were welcomed and whence, it later appeared, the Commander had led an additional force to help rout the fleeing Nubians. Since the Pharaoh had given the order to take no prisoners, men were detailed to slit the throats of all the enemy wounded, leaving them to the jackals.

  Yes, we won the day. We taught the rebels a lesson that remained in their memory long enough for the young Thutmose to lead the next reprisal, after he had joined the military in Memphis. I did not personally fight again.

  Here endeth the eleventh scroll.

  THE TWELFTH SCROLL

  The reign of Hatshepsut year 20:

  The fourth month of Peret day 5

  Ibana came this morning to report to me that his men had investigated the suspect tax collector and the documents carried by the courier to Thutmose at Memphis. Somehow I cannot like that man. It is hard to say why, for he is always punctiliously polite and he carries out his duties faithfully. Yet there is something about him that makes me feel cold, like walking into a dark room at midday.

  As usual, the slave had to bring a bowl of water f
or him to wash his hands. I had to order the door to the small audience chamber to be firmly closed and the guards to stand some distance down the corridor. Only then would he speak.

  “It has taken a while,” he told me, “but we have some answers. Now, the tax collector …”

  “Yes?”

  “He is at least that which he purports to be. Of course he may be more than that … we know of such instances …” He smiled, dryly. “But he does officiate as a tax collector. The reason why he comes so often to the house of Hapuseneb bearing redundant lists …”

  “Well?”

  “He seeks the hand of the eldest daughter of the house in marriage. She is indeed a pretty girl.”

  “Oh.” I know that Hapuseneb and his wife, Amenhotep, have a large brood. It is generally known that at home she reigns supreme, and that despite all his titles and authority in the country at large he jumps to it when she speaks. It always amuses me to imagine this.

  “The two eldest are sons, and then there is Henut. The one that has caught the tax collector’s fancy. Hapuseneb would let him have her hand, but the mother …”

  “He will not cross his wife, I understand?”

  Ibana smiled austerely. He too finds it amusing that the great man is ruled by his wife. “She will not have it. Her daughter is yet young, she says, and she has need of her at home. The tax-collector seeks to convince them otherwise, but so far without success.”

  “He will not prevail against Amenhotep,” I said. “So. Is that all?”

  “In his case, we were unable to uncover any other activities that appeared odd. So, the next step was to intercept the courier. We made it look as if some desert brigands had attacked him to steal his horse. It is a remarkably fine animal. What does Your Majesty wish us to do with it?”

  “Won’t he … when he recovers …”

  “He will not recover,” Ibana stated, his voice devoid of emotion. “When the documents he carried proved to be unexceptional, it was necessary to interrogate him … ah … thoroughly. To be sure that he carried no more … ah … interesting communications … in his head, so to speak. It does not appear that he did.”

  “I see.”

  Just then, Sekhmet stalked into the room. She stepped daintily over to Ibana and leapt onto his lap. He stroked her tenderly. Looking at those hands on her fur, I suddenly felt quite nauseous. I cleared my throat. “And the documents … ? What … ?”

  “The Grand Vizier receives reports on the progress of newly promoted officers. He sends reviews of new training programmes, as Minister of War.”

  “Nothing more?”

  “Nothing. Unless there is some code involved. We examined the documents with great care and we could discover no coded messages.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “So. As always we shall continue to keep a constant watch,” Ibana promised. He unfolded his legs. “Do I have Your Majesty’s permission to depart?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Ah … the horse?”

  “Keep it,” I said. “But be discreet.”

  “I am always discreet, Majesty. If I might just wash my hands again?”

  “Of course.” I opened the door and called for a slave.

  This matter has disturbed me. I do understand that the security of the throne must be paramount for Khemet to survive. I also accept that security must be paid for in terms of risks taken and that such risks may sometimes cost lives. One cannot be Pharaoh without allowing for such things. Yet I am not happy with the attitude that Ibana exhibits. I know that he must be ruthless, but to show not the smallest degree of regret that an innocent man has been killed – that surely requires an adamantine heart. For my part I do regret it. I regret it greatly. I wish that I could wash my hands of it as lightly as Ibana does. Sometimes, it seems that to maintain Ma’at one must contravene Ma’at.

  Yet, as far as Thutmose is concerned, I must be vigilant. Throughout my reign, this one problem has dogged me like a wolf on the trail of a goat: the co-regency of my nephew-stepson. While he was a child, I could keep him from exercising power. As I have written, I sent him to the Aten priests at Heliopolis when I was crowned. After the battle in Nubia I had peace for four years and I could move forward with my programme of rebuilding the temples of the gods all over Khemet that the Hyksos had allowed to fall into ruin. This employed many men and it was good for the land as a whole. At the same time I consolidated the gains achieved through conquest by my royal father, may he live, whilst maintaining good relations with our vassal states.

  When Thutmose was sixteen, however, there was trouble at the temple school. Hapuseneb reported that he had seduced the wife of the Chief Priest of the Aten, no less, and when that worthy objected, he knocked the fellow out cold and threw him head first into the sacred lake, where he would have drowned had not some acolytes gone to his assistance. After this episode, the priests advised me to transfer him to the army training centre at Memphis. That should absorb a good deal of his restless energy, I thought, so I agreed.

  The life of a soldier suits Thutmose perfectly. He has developed into a fearsome warrior, excelling as an archer shooting from a horse-drawn chariot. He draws a bow that men much taller than him cannot even bend. Soon he had become a standard bearer and then, in his nineteenth year, I was forced to appoint him Commander of the Army. It is a post traditionally held by the Crown Prince; and besides, one is obliged to admit, it would have been his on merit. The military revere him and he has strong generals; he leads men well and he inspires devotion in his followers. Now, in his thirty-second year, he grows ever more restless and ambitious and it is hard to hold him in check.

  Last week Khani came again to report on military activities. He told me that, according to his informants in Memphis, the general preparations for a military undertaking of some magnitude were still progressing according to the orders of Commander Thutmose.

  “Majesty,” he said, “he behaves more like a reigning Pharaoh every day.”

  “I have thought that I should send him on some kind of expedition,” I said. “One that would make good sense, that he could not within reason refuse. But not to Hatti.” I chewed some dates and winced. A tooth at the back of my mouth has been plaguing me and the sticky, sweet date caused me pain.

  “No, not to Hatti. If he undertakes a punitive raid to the land of the Hittites again, he will probably prevail,” said Khani, observing me shrewdly. “And then he would return in triumph, bringing booty, treasure, prisoners, women and slaves.”

  “And he would be an even more popular hero than when he returned after putting down the latest uprising in Kush,” I nodded. “That would not suit me. But tell me, Khani – how necessary is it that Egypt should act against the Hittites? Are they indeed mustering? Will Syria remain loyal to us? Will they hold steadfast as a buffer? Seni has said that he does not believe an attack on our borders is imminent. Should I believe him?”

  Khani considered. “At first I thought the reports were exaggerated, Majesty,” he responded. “But we have had more informers bringing tales that should give us cause for concern. While I agree with Seni that attack on our borders is unlikely at this time …”

  “Most unlikely, I imagine,” I said. “Syria and Canaan are still our allies, after all.”

  “… yet the Hittites are growing arrogant. Perhaps it will soon be time for the lion of Egypt to roar.”

  I sighed. I detest warfare – throughout my reign, ever since I myself went on campaign, I have tried to limit violent hostilities. Yet as Pharaoh I must keep my country safe and at times that demands acts of war. Then they must be carried out. I prefer Thutmose to bear that responsibility, and yet I do not want him to achieve too much success. It is a dilemma in more than one way.

  “I shall send him to Kush again,” I said. “I imagine he will not be loath to go, to return to the scene of his earlier triumph.”

  “Kush is at present suitably cowed,” said Khani. I looked at him sharply, suspecting irony, for of course Khani is
Nubian-born and it could be that he would wish his country to cast off the grip of the Pharaoh. But I believe he has lived in Egypt long enough to understand that Egypt is the centre of the world and that it has been ordained that we should have dominion over the outlying lands. I think of him as an Egyptian, usually.

  “All the same,” I said. “I might order Thutmose to take a couple of companies to the South, to inspect the line of fortresses that control our border with Nubia. I shall claim to have information that they are planning an uprising. He cannot deny that it is imperative for us to maintain order in that area …”

  “Hardly,” said Khani dryly, “Given the amount of gold Egypt receives from Nubia.”

  Again I wondered at his tone, but his eyes were steady. I nodded. “I will convince Seni to support me in this.”

  “But what of our defences in the north-east?” he enquired.

  “Perhaps we should send a division or two northwards to demonstrate our might and readiness. That might be sufficient to avoid war altogether. You could take overall command.”

  His shoulders squared. “I have not the rank,” he objected.

  “Promotion lies in the gift of the Pharaoh,” I pointed out. “Yours is overdue.”

  “The Great Commander will not like that. Not at all.”

  “I care not what the Great Little Commander likes or does not like,” I told him. “I am Pharaoh. You should leave your second-in-command in charge here, and go north with the divisions of Horus and Sekhmet. If you travel to Memphis on horseback, how long before you could depart?”

  “With just two divisions, we can take the field within three weeks.” As usual he looked imperturbable, but I had a sense of tension being tightly coiled in him.

  “I will give commands,” I promised.

  As Khani left, swiftly and silently as usual, a sudden movement caught my eye. It was Bek, my little dwarf, whose legs have been out of splints for several weeks now. He came trotting onto the portico, and then he attempted to do one of his trademark somersaults. It was a dismal failure. He battled to sit upright after the roll; his wig and the false ears came off and ended up on his lap. Disconsolately he shook his bald and earless head.