The Pharaoh's Destiny

By Markie Madden

The year is 1477 B.C.E. and history is about to change...

Hatshepsut, the Great King’s Wife, is thrust into a world of intrigue and politics when her husband, Pharaoh Thutmose, dies suddenly, leaving Egypt with an heir who is barely two years old. The Queen must step into the role of leader, and there are few she can trust.

When Hatshepsut is crowned as Pharaoh, she grooms her daughter, Neferure, to take the place of heir, rather than Thutmose’s infant son from another woman. Neferure, though young, is still older than the boy who should by all rights be king.

The future of Egypt rests in the hands of a single woman, the most powerful woman in the ancient world. Can Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s people accept her unorthodox reign, and her plans to usurp the men’s place as rulers of a Kingdom, decreeing that only women are suitable leaders?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Metamorph Publishing
• Release date: Jun 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781310485138

Markie Madden

Markie Madden, born Marguerite Malone on August 19, 1975 in Midland, Texas, is the author of Once Upon a Western Way, Keeping a Backyard Horse, and My Butterfly Cancer. She grew up in Flushing, Michigan, where she began to write stories when she was a teenager. She married in 1994 and now has 2 teenage daughters. She has 3 rescue dogs and a horse whom she enjoys spending time with. She is also a cancer survivor, battling leukemia (AML) in 2013-2014. She now resides in a small country town in Missouri, where she continues to write. She hopes that her newest book, Keeping a Backyard Horse, will help prevent accidental mistreatment of horses, and help educate horse owners in taking care of their horse even on a budget. She raised and trained her horse Athena. In 2014, she founded Metamorph Publishing as a way to self-publish her books, and she's now working with other indie authors as well. Her three books Once Upon a Western Way, Keeping a Backyard Horse, and My Butterfly Cancer are all available in print and for e-readers, and My Butterfly Cancer is also out in audiobook format. She can also be found on GoodReads, Scribophile, Shelfari, and Wattpad, as well as many other social media such as Twitter, Pinterest, Tumblr, LinkedIn, Facebook, and more.

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The Pharaoh’s Destiny

Pharaoh Queens 1

Markie Madden

This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are entirely fictional and products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, locations, or incidents, is coincidental.

© 2017 by Metamorph Publishing and Markie Madden

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means- electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other--except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles--without the express written permission of the publisher.

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without by monetary gain, is investigated by the Federal Bureau of Investigation and is punishable by up to five (5) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Any brand and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. This book is not affiliated with any product or vendor within these pages.

ISBN# 978-1535281102

Smashwords ISBN# 978-1310485138

AISN B06XW3N78N

Published in Fisk, MO USA by Metamorph Publishing

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Please remember, if you enjoyed this book, return to the place of purchase and leave a review. Reviews are extremely important for authors, and are a good way to show your support!

Dedicated to the memory of Khnumet-Amun Hatshepsut, a woman separated from my own time by a gulf of almost 4,000 years, yet who still inspires through her courage.

Acknowledgments

I’d like to thank two authors whose books gave me valuable insight into ancient Egypt in general and Hatshepsut in particular.

The first is Doctor Joyce Tyldesley, who is also a professor at the University of Manchester. I was first introduced to Dr. Tyldesley when I took an online course on ancient Egypt. It was that six-week course which rekindled my interest in ancient Egypt. Her book called Hatchepsut: The Female Pharaoh provided wonderful insight to the woman whom history nearly erased.

Second, I’d like to thank Kara Cooney, professor of Egyptian art and architecture at UCLA. Her book The Woman Who Would Be King was a valuable source of information.

Both women have differing views of Hatshepsut, the woman and the king, but these two opinions allowed me to find a comfortable place in between, albeit with a fictional flair.

Thanks to my tireless and supportive editor, Gary Seaton, for finding all those little errors that invariably slip past my eyes, and for asking questions to enable me to better elucidate scenes for my readers.

Thank you to my family for putting up with months of random comments, each usually beginning with, Hey, did you know in ancient Egypt…? These usually occurred as I learned more about these fascinating people.

Author’s Note

This book is a work of fiction based on real history. The reign of King Hatshepsut of Egypt, somewhere around 1480 B.C.E. (during the latter part of the Bronze Age) is a known and accepted fact among Egyptologists. But because many of her monuments and stone texts were systematically erased sometime after her reign, it has been difficult for us to piece together exactly what happened during this historic time. Many people are familiar with Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, and Queen Elizabeth of England, but Hatshepsut is, perhaps, the very first famous woman known to our history. She ruled during what we now call the 18th Dynasty of Egypt’s ancient history.

Many of the terms in this novel might be familiar to the reader, but I’ve included a glossary of terms at the back of the book. The first time a word in the glossary is mentioned in the text, it will be in italics so you will know it is defined in the glossary. After that, the word will appear in regular text.

Much of the ancient Egyptian language is a mystery to us, and there is no one left alive who knows how this mysterious language was spoken. So, I’m also including a pronunciation guide for the names and some of the terms that have little or no translation to our English language.

Both these guides are supplemental information, for the reader to choose to read or not. Mind you, I’m not even sure these are the correct pronunciations; this is just how I hear the words in my head when I read them.

Any student of Egyptology will quickly become aware that many of the names also have different accepted spellings, as well. This stems from the difficulty of properly translating hieroglyphic writing, which often includes no vowels, into a language with only 26 letters. You may, for example, see Hatshepsut spelled as I have in this novel, or spelled as Hatchepsut. Either way, the name is speaking about the same historical figure. You may also see Thutmose, Thutmosis or Tutmosis, and all three are acceptable spellings.

So you can see, there is still much confusion about the land of Egypt almost 2,000 years before the Current Era, and what little we do know is pieced together from the massive stone monuments, carefully-sealed tombs, and a few fragile papyri carefully preserved by museums all across the world. The ancient Egyptians believed that if their bodies endured forever, and if their likeness or name remained carved on stone monuments, they would live forever in the afterlife. Perhaps they were correct, for their stories are still inspiring us today.

Keep in mind, this story takes place in a time when children grew up quickly, and were often married with heavy responsibilities at an early age, even twelve or thirteen years old. The role of God’s Wife, for example, must fulfill some esoteric, and frankly sexual, rituals, but this was completely accepted by these people at the time. Though some of the things in this book may seem unacceptable to us, it was the way of the people at the time and no one thought it should be any different. Wine and beer feature prominently in this book, only because the ancient Egyptians knew the water of the Nile was not good to drink; fermented beverages carried less bacterial contamination.

As for me, I can only hope that you’re entertained by my tale of the magnificent reign of this forward-thinking woman, a female in a man’s world who made a name for herself centuries before it was fashionable. Keep in mind, this is fiction, though it’s based on some semblance of what we know to be fact. And if this inspires you to read more about Hatshepsut, then so be it!

~~Markie Madden

Ancient Egypt

The following maps will give you a general idea of what Egypt may have looked like during the 18th Dynasty. Because the Egyptian civilization was concentrated around the Nile river valley, there are three maps to cover all the areas under Egypt’s control during this period of time.

Chapter 1

The room was stifling, despite the palace slaves waving large fans of woven palm fronds to and fro. Open windows only allowed in the arid, dusty musk of the desert and the wet scent of the Nile River, the lifeblood of Egypt, flowing between its banks nearby. In the room, it seemed life itself was frozen in time, yet outside the palace walls, the sounds of city life could faintly be heard, of families preparing the evening meal, children laughing, and people tending their animals for the coming night.

Within the airless chamber, the woman paced back and forth, a thin linen sheath dress clinging to her pale, perspiring skin. The dress, two crisscrossing shoulder panels covering her ample breasts and back, was gathered at the waist with a thick, incredibly decorated belt, and hung straight from her waist to the floor. Two slits from ankle to knee on either side facilitated walking. When she moved, her leather sandals peeked out from the linen. Her deep red hair, braided in a thick rope that hung just past her shoulders, swung gracefully from side to side. Her eyes, a rich honey brown, a color unusual for women of her time, were narrowed and troubled beneath the bright azure eye shadow and deep black eyeliner she wore.

My Lady, I am sorry. There is nothing more I can do here. The healer spoke in hushed tones with the air of one who has grown accustomed to delivering grave news. Whether he lives or dies is in the hands of the gods now. But I do not think he will wake again.

Hatshepsut turned toward the low bed. The figure of her husband and half-brother, King of Misr, what would later become known as Egypt, was wan and unmoving. His skin, once the color of dark coffee, now held the grayish aura of death. The King’s hair was damp and matted with sweat. A fever, raging over three days now, and in the heat of summer, was a terrible threat to his life. Even when the servants constantly washed his body with cool water from the river, he remained flaming hot to the touch. For several minutes, Hatshepsut watched his chest rise and fall with each breath, slow and shallow, dreading the moment it would cease. Finally, she commanded, Leave me! Her voice held the tone of one who assumes they will be obeyed without question.

The physician bowed low, motioning to his assistant, who gathered the scattered potions and tools into a woven basket. Without a word, they slipped out of the Pharaoh’s chambers, leaving only the King, his wife, and one other in the room.

The woman paced again, never straying far from her husband’s bed. Sete, her most trusted guard, stood quietly at the door; his eyes alternated between watching her and glancing to the side as if he listened to sounds in the hallway. The guard wore the shendyt, a traditional linen kilt favored by Egyptian men, but his chest was bare except for the gold collar and pendant over his heart, carved with the solar disk, the sun supported by a pair of bull’s horns. A khopesh, the short, curved sword, hung at his waist, along with a jeweled dagger on which his left hand rested. The man was the picture of an able-bodied protector. He was bound to the queen and to her alone; his duty, were it to come to it, could include protecting her from her own husband, should the King ever pose a threat to her. Eventually, he could remain silent no longer.

My Lady. His voice was a reverent whisper as if he thought he could disturb the Pharaoh by speaking. We must not let our guard down. Those who had the courage to make such a bold attempt on the King’s life will not show you any mercy.

What of the boy? Hatshepsut’s voice was subdued.

He is safe, Sete replied. Now he is with his mother and the other ladies of the harem.

Good. Thutmose the younger must be protected at all costs. Hatshepsut looked at Sete, her light-colored eyes boring into his deep brown ones. After all, he is the only heir, even at his youthful age.

He will not be able to take the throne, Sete protested with a hiss of indignation. The child is only two years old!

I know! For the first time, there was a touch of fear in the woman’s voice, fear, and uncertainty. Sete, what am I to do? But the man only shook his head. He was a palace guard, and a Queen’s guard at that; Sete was no Vizier to be advising the Pharaoh. Or the co-regent, for that matter. It is of no consequence, Hatshepsut decided. For my husband is not yet walking among the gods in the afterlife. Perhaps, all this worry is needless.

Hatshepsut returned to her husband’s side, pulling a small cloth from a basin of water and twisting it to remove the excess liquid. Gently, she ran the cool dampness over the elder Thutmose’s face, watching his eyes move under their closed lids. She wondered if he was having fever dreams and hoped they were not unpleasant. The woman’s heart sank as she watched the frail form of her husband, her brother. Even though their marriage, at a young age and arranged by their parents, was usual for Egypt’s royalty, she had grown to love the man who took her as his wife. Though always weak, Thutmose was a gentle and caring soul, and she knew the physical world would become a little colder when he walked forever in the afterlife.

Thutmose, the second of the royal family to claim the name of their father, was never completely healthy. The spice slipped in his food four days ago wasn’t considered a poison, but to someone with the Pharaoh’s numerous existing ailments it could potentially act as such. Even had a servant performed a ritual tasting, something Thutmose always protested, the spice still would have reached his mouth. Hatshepsut knew the palace healers, who nursed him through illness after illness, had, indeed, done all they could. Just as she knew, at the temple on the other side of Thebes, the priests of Amun were offering up whatever sacrifices they could to the gods, in hopes of extending their king’s life. I must be the only one who feels it is all for naught, the Queen thought. For buried deep in her heart was the knowledge that surely her King would die, a knowing sent directly to her from her spiritual father, Amun himself.

Hatshepsut looked up from the still form and locked eyes with Sete again. Send for Amethu-Ahmose, she ordered. Bring the Vizier.

Sete bowed. Right away, my Lady. He stepped from the room, and she could hear sounds of low conversation from the hall. Only a moment passed, and Sete returned. I have sent one of the King’s guards for him, my Queen. She gave him a stern look of reproach. "Forgive me, but I will not leave you unprotected for even a moment."

She sighed. But I do not have the same reaction to the Melegueta pepper as did my husband. It is a commonly used plant.

Of course not, my Lady. However, there is more than one way to bring harm.

Again, Hatshepsut sighed. He is only doing his duty, she thought. Let him be. She returned her attention to the Pharaoh.

The woman disposed of the basin of water, now grown warm from the heat of the Pharaoh as well as the room, dumping it in a large chamber pot, and poured fresh, cool water from a long-necked clay flask. As she dipped the cloth in the bowl, a knock sounded at the door. Immediately, Sete came to full attention. Open the door. Hatshepsut sat on the edge of the low bed, taking one of the Pharaoh’s still, clammy hands in hers.

Sete swung open the heavy door, and the Vizier strode in. He was a short, stocky man who wore the long robe and cloak favored by priests, as well as those who sought to seem more important than they were. Amethu-Ahmose was bald and clean-shaven, and his flabby arms were unaccustomed to any sort of manual labor. The man was assigned to the position of Vizier during her father’s reign and merely carried on during that of her husband. If I am to rule this kingdom, for however long, the position of Vizier will change, she vowed. The Vizier always made her uncomfortable as if she somehow failed to live up to his lofty expectations.

What news, my Lady? Amethu-Ahmose’s voice was high-pitched and nasal. Soft, just like the rest of him, Hatshepsut thought in disgust.

Vizier, the healers can do no more. It is up to the King now, both him and the gods.

What do you require of me? The Vizier asked.

Word of this is not to get out. The woman spoke sternly, giving him a direct gaze with narrowed eyes to emphasize her words. "To anyone, other than the physicians and the King’s guards. Thutmose is not to be disturbed, even by his… harem." The word left a dirty taste in Hatshepsut’s mouth. She was, of course, aware of her husband’s other women, and the fact that one of those women had given the Pharaoh a son, an heir, when she herself as Great King’s Wife was unable to. Young though he was, the small Thutmose would be next in line for the throne, if the unthinkable happened. In that event, however, Hatshepsut was determined to make a change. Amun already showed her what would come to be, during one of many rituals she performed alone in the temple.

Of course, my Lady. The Vizier bowed to her.

You will tell anyone who asks that the King is suffering a relapse of one of his old ailments. There will be no other discussion outside this room.

As you wish.

Now, send me Neferure.

Amethu-Ahmose bowed again and, after a solitary glance at the deathly ill Pharaoh, took his leave.

The moon was sliding behind the palace wall by the time Neferure entered her father’s suite. I apologize, mother, she said, a bit out of breath. Master Ahmose had me practicing my glyphs.

That is important, her mother replied, opening her arms to her six-year-old daughter. Such gestures of affection were not seemly in public, but under the selective gaze of Sete, Hatshepsut felt no qualms about hugging the girl. The child wore a simple tunic that fell to her knees. The dress was nothing more than a piece of linen folded over, and with a hole cut through the fold for the head. An elaborately braided and beaded belt secured the tunic. Neferure kept her jet-black hair shaved close to the scalp, except for the typical child’s sidetail hanging just above her right ear, her mark of royalty. The tied tresses hung past her shoulder and the tip curled in a loose spiral.

How is he, mother? The girl’s dark eyes begged for good news.

I do not know, Hatshepsut answered. The physicians can do no more. You must pray to the gods.

Oh, yes, mother! I have been.

But, I sent for you because you must be prepared. The King may die, and if that is the will of the gods, there is nothing anyone can do.

"Father will live on with Osiris and the gods in the afterlife, right mother? Master Ahmose has been teaching me about the gods."

Yes, it is the King’s destiny to walk with the gods forever. Hatshepsut spoke absently, quoting religious scripture she learned in the temple. "Kings are mortal gods, only given to us for a fleeting time. It is their duty to make certain our people still worship the gods, that ma’at is preserved, and they will carry our words back to the gods when they make the journey from this world."

The dark eyes welled with tears. Does that mean we can’t be sad?

No, my child. Grief is a gift given to us by the gods. People are much better off to have the sadness on the outside than on the inside. And, a grief shared is a grief lessened.

You’re right, mother. The young girl looked at her father. Will he wake up? Can I say goodbye? I mean, if he— Neferure seemed unable to voice the word.

Hatshepsut shook her head. The healers do not think so.

What do you think?

The Queen thought about it for a moment, wondering how she could make her only child understand something she herself barely comprehended. Well, I think… I think, perhaps, he is like in a dream. I believe if you were to speak to him now, he would hear you. Hatshepsut helped Neferure to sit on the bed next to her father. The girl curled up next to his side, put one arm across his chest as if to protect him, and whispered something in his ear. Hatshepsut’s heart broke for the child, and for herself, if what she suspected would actually come to pass. For in Egypt, the role of leader was always reserved for men, passed from father to son, royal men, no matter if they could function in the position of King.

A select few in the palace, Sete and Senenmut, the man who handled all Hatshepsut’s finances, being two of them, had known for many years most of the orders from the Pharaoh were put in place by the Queen herself. The king was often too ill to perform his duties, and so she stepped up in his place. Thutmose the elder had been only too happy to allow her the day-to-day responsibilities of running the kingdom. Their father, the first Pharaoh to take the name of Thutmose, had essentially named Hatshepsut a co-ruler before his death, in any case, and everyone knew he favored his daughter, born to his Great King’s Wife, over his son, born to a harem woman. Their father encouraged the marriage to legitimize his son and preserve the family’s royal blood.

Hatshepsut shook her head as she stroked her daughter’s face in comfort. No, my daughter. Now I have better plans for you, better than forcing you to marry a child, a child almost a lifetime younger than you. I swear by the gods, this will not be your fate. As far as she knew, no Queen had ever attempted to change the course of her own destiny, at least, not in the way she intended to.

The Queen stayed at her husband’s bedside through the long desert night, watching their daughter, who had fallen asleep at his side. Hatshepsut did her best to cool his raging body with water from the basin, but the woman knew she was only making his end as comfortable as possible. Toward morning, the King’s breathing became shallow and more labored, and she sent for the physicians, and Neferure’s nurse, to take the girl to her own bed. There was no reason the child should witness her father’s death. While the healers did their work, she glanced out the window, taking in the midnight blue of predawn, turning pink at the extreme eastern horizon. It was time to wake the god.

As God’s Wife, Hatshepsut’s duty was to go to the Temple of Amun each morning, to wake the god with gifts, food, and symbolic sexual stimulation. As their legends told it, the first god created the other gods by masturbating, creating the gods from the essence of his seed, a symbolic regenerating of himself. This daily rite was necessary for the god to begin the process of regeneration, so he could travel across the sky in his sun barge, bringing much-needed light to warm the crops. Regardless of her husband’s illness and the fact that her place should be at his side, ma’at must still be preserved; this term was a deep-seated understanding of the way of the Universe, and certain religious rituals were put in place to assure the people continued the path of rightness. The Queen was the only one who could perform the ritual.

Hatshepsut entered the priesthood at an early age; she could count only ten years when the King flew to the heavens, leaving her fatherless and thereafter married to her half-brother, as was common in the royal family. The girl’s training at the temple began slowly, but was accelerated by necessity after the death of the Pharaoh. Hatshepsut was initiated as God’s Wife shortly after his passing.

When Hatshepsut arrived at the temple, she wore the thin linen sheath dress and the black, braided-hair and beaded wig. Atop the wig was a fancy headdress in the shape of a stylized vulture, the beak resting at the third eye on her forehead, topped with a crown and uraeus, the coiled, ready-to-strike cobra with hood extended. This unusual headgear was a tribute to Nekhbet, the vulture-headed goddess of Upper Egypt. The wings, made of real feathers, hung down the sides of her face, the tips draping over the woman’s shoulders. As she took her place behind the First High Priest and stepped through the gate-like entrance to the public part of the chapel, she tugged the crisscrossed straps of the dress aside, baring her breasts so she might be pleasing to the god Amun. Only a woman could awaken the god.

Hatshepsut entered the inner sanctuary behind Hapuseneb and several other priests, who carried a wide selection of food and drink. The First High Priest went to the niche in the rear of the chapel where a statue of the god Amun sat on his barque, a decorative litter used to carry him through the streets during public festivals. Hapuseneb parted the thin, gossamer curtains hanging from the top of the litter to expose the statue of Amun in all his glory. The statue’s head was bare, but he was otherwise fully wrapped from neck to toe as if he were a mummy. Hatshepsut, appropriately respectful, began offering the god the various foods passed to her in the proper order. It was the same each day, and she long ago committed the correct sequence to memory. Once the foodstuffs were given to Amun, Hatshepsut presented the beers and wines.

That phase of the ritual complete, the lower status priests left the sanctuary, leaving Hatshepsut alone with Hapuseneb. He began unwrapping the god, starting from the neck and working his way down while Hatshepsut took up the sistrum, a type of rattle. She began a chant and sang to the god as the priest uncovered the statue. Aside from the face, the statue had only a vague sense of a male’s body: broad, well-muscled shoulders, a narrow waist and hips, and legs spread, one foot in front of the other in the typical striding pose of the god or a royal male. What made the statue unique was the prodigious and fully erect penis. The priest held a vessel containing aromatic oils made of frankincense and myrrh, products not indigenous to the kingdom and therefore highly prized. The God’s Wife dipped her hand in the jar, spreading oil on the statue. She moved carefully around the god, leaning her body away to avoid touching the upright manhood until the appropriate time.

When the statue was covered in oil, except for the penis, Hapuseneb bowed low to the god and backed out of the chapel. The next steps were reserved for the God’s Wife, also known as the God’s Hand, and she alone could perform them. Hatshepsut dipped her hand in the jar again, filling her palm with the sweet-smelling oil and rubbing her hands together. Then, she took the god’s penis in her pale hands, encouraging him in the act of masturbation, so that with his orgasm he would awaken his powers of regeneration and travel in his solar barge across the sky. The woman murmured the symbolic words, her quiet voice reverent and pious.

She bowed low to the floor, and capped the jar of oil, setting it aside. Hatshepsut gathered up the thin strips of linen, wrapping the statue from his feet to his neck, reversing the steps performed by Hapuseneb. Once the likeness of the god was wrapped, she closed the curtains surrounding his barque, sealing him once again in the darkness. The queen picked up the oil jar and a broom, which had been left within reach by the priests. Then, she bowed to the now-invisible statue and slowly backed away from him, sweeping her footprints, and those of the holy men, as she walked. No one would dare enter the sanctuary until the next morning when the ritual would be repeated.

Chapter 2

Two cycles of the moon passed after the death of the Pharaoh. He was now in the hands of the priests of Anubis, the jackal-headed god of mummification and the afterlife, who prepared his body for burial. Hatshepsut knew about mummification, of course; her father, the first Thutmose, flew to the heavens just a few short years ago, so she was familiar with what happened with her husband’s body.

First, the internal organs were removed through a small incision in the lower abdomen. These would be preserved as well, but it was a known fact that leaving them inside the body would cause problems during the process of mummification. The organs would be dried separately from the body, and lungs, intestines, stomach, and liver would be placed in clay jars. She already instructed the priests’ workers in the specifics she wanted for her husband’s canopic jars. These would be carved and painted with the Pharaoh’s name in an oval cartouche, as well as scenes of his family and life. Thutmose’s body was covered in natron salt, a proven method for desiccating, or removing the moisture from the body. The King must remain that way for another half-moon cycle before the priests could begin the wrapping process.

Hatshepsut sat in her suite, taking advantage of a few minutes alone to gather her thoughts. There were so many things to be done to prepare her husband for the afterlife, and she barely had a moment to herself since he drew his last breath. The work progressed on his tomb across the Nile river, in the Valley of the Kings. The carvers already completed their portion of the job, the images made by removing the background rather than taking out the shape of the figure, resulting in a sunk-relief style of