Two Sons From Egypt
The Story of Thutmose III and MosesBy R. S. SmithAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2006 R. S. Smith
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4184-7949-7Contents
DEDICATION..........................vAKNOWLEDGEMENTS.....................viiINTRODUCTION........................xiMAP.................................xvPROLOGUE............................xviiPART I..............................1Chapter 1...........................3Chapter 2...........................20Chapter 3...........................38Chapter 4...........................62Chapter 5...........................80Chapter 6...........................105Chapter 7...........................129Chapter 8...........................153Chapter 9...........................179Chapter 10..........................201Chapter 11..........................223Chapter 12..........................247Chapter 13..........................276Chapter 14..........................304Chapter 15..........................331PART II.............................353Chapter 16..........................355Chapter 17..........................378Chapter 18..........................404Chapter 19..........................430Chapter 20..........................456Chapter 21..........................480Chapter 22..........................499Chapter 23..........................522Chapter 24..........................553Chapter 25..........................580Chapter 26..........................608EPILOGUE............................647
Chapter One
Moses' fleet wound along the fluid avenue of the Nile, past silhouetted palms and villas, guided by a single star that clung to the horizon like a jewel as the wings of dawn slowly lifted beneath it.
Senmut Re Moses, son of the god Amon and Pharaoh Hatshepsut, stood at the prow of the foremost ship watching the pink and golden light usher in the rebirth of Re from the body of Nut. As the fleet rounded the bend Thebes spread along the bank like a heap of geometric blocks and spires that grew in the distance until it filled the eastern desert.
He should have felt proud and impervious, having just signed a treaty with Egypt's greatest threat, the Keftiu from the Isle of Thera. Instead his heart felt heavy and his body rigid beneath his tan. Everyone knew Egypt's enemies would not long abide this pharaoh's peaceful policies. A successor offered their only hope of stability and strength.
His voyage to Thera had been for that very purpose, to show his strength as heir while communicating a warning should the bounty of the Delta entice the Keftiu to notions of conquest as it had once done the Hyksos.
His eyes narrowed on the city, the wind slapping his kilt against his legs. He purposefully kept his gaze from the western bank where the garrison ruins lifted in mock silence amid the clutter of funerary temples from long dead pharaohs. Behind the rubble the cliffs of El Kurn lifted like an impregnable fortress, guarding the spirits of the royal dead and their treasures with them.
Moses squared his shoulders, his eyes reflecting the arc of sunlight as it crested behind the capital. He had seen the lush vegetation of the Delta, had experienced the blue-green expanse of the Great Sea, and had visited an island paradise whose technology defied Egypt's most learned scholars. Yet here at Thebes, capital of the Two Lands of Egypt, was where he longed to be.
The sun god appeared to acknowledge his thoughts while bathing Thebes in a blinding light. The white sails snapped above him and the emblem of the falcon writhed as if attempting to free itself and soar against the wind that tugged the ships to shore.
He could see the crowds already gathered on the bank, the priests and choir leading the throngs in praise to Egypt's numerous gods. Soon, as evidenced by a colourful procession winding toward the river, the litters of Pharaoh Hatshepsut and her entourage would join them. He watched as the masses lifted their voices in a thunderous cheer at sight of the fleet. In the foreground the priests swung their censors of incense as if anticipating the arrival of a god.
Moses pushed all other thoughts from his mind and focused on the populace, Egypt's greatest asset. He had risked his life for them, facing the outrage of Egypt's enemies and hostilities of a foreign court while entrusting himself to the gods' care. He had done it for these, the masses of Egypt. For Egypt was a people even more than it was a land.
The sound of a trumpet pierced the air as Puseneb, high priest of Amon, raised his hands in a blessing. As if on cue, a web priest opened a cage, letting loose a falcon, symbol of Egypt's heir. The creature flapped its wings, lifting high into the blue above the clamour and colour of the crowds. Peering down with a haughty eye, it paused mid-flight as if suspended, gliding in a slow arc above the ships.
Moses smiled, understanding a greater meaning in the moment. He too stood on the threshold of a new beginning, having long been encaged in the shadow of Hatshepsut's reign. The time had come for him to free himself and claim the title rightfully his. Neither he nor Egypt could wait any longer.
Spreading its wings, the bird opened its beak with a piercing squawk, circling higher and higher into the sky until eventually lost in the brilliance of the sun.
* * *
Nefru held out a neatly manicured foot as her maid hurriedly applied henna to her toenails. Though impatient to see Moses, she was not willing to let a single item of her toilet remain undone. Her younger sister could sleep the morning away if she wished, but Nefru intended to meet Moses in full regalia. But at the sound of a trumpet Nefru bolted to her feet, nearly toppling the alabaster bottle of henna.
Ignoring her half painted feet, she ran to the balcony and leaned over the rail, straining for sight of him. Shading her eyes, she at last saw the royal fleet moored in harbour, their gleaming sails lifted like tiny pyramids against the blue, while the brown bodies of slaves, appearing like a steady trail of ants, unloaded goods and equipment at the docks. Nefru searched farther, seeing Moses and his officers at the head of the parade of royal litters, already beginning their march up the Avenue of Rams and toward the palace.
Catching her breath, she hastened back to her room, ignoring the servant still waiting at her feet, and struck the metal gong whereupon another maid entered.
Nefru's face reddened with a mixture of excitement and anger. "Hurry! He'll soon be here!"
"My Lady, only now did any of us hear of the Prince's arrival."
Nefru had no time to reprimand. Seating herself once again she held out her other foot, submitting to the experienced hands of her maid.
The Steward of the Royal Wardrobe re-entered moments later with an armful of garments, holding them out as Nefru snatched at the gowns, tossing them in colourful piles about the room. Finally she hesitated over a blush of pink linen brought by way of a Syrian tradesman. Its gauze-like weave would reveal more than just the outline of her body.
"This will do," she gasped. While her maids dressed her, colour rose to her cheeks, complimented by the hue of the gown, her eyes bright with expectancy.
Seated at the dressing table, a servant quickly applied kohl and malachite to accent her eyes, colouring her lips with a mixture of ochre and oil. The hairdresser entered with a dark wig perfectly prepared, and set it upon her head, taking care that every hair turned under until it appeared as uniform as a temple carving. Placing a thin diadem about her brow, the maiden accented it with a fresh lotus that contrasted dramatically against the black wig.
Nefru stood and appraised herself in the bronze mirror, her armlets and anklets tinkling like bells as she turned this way and that. She nodded approval as a servant splashed myrrh and aloes about her like the mists of morning. She must appear more stunning, more beautiful than any Keftiu maiden who may have stolen Moses' heart, for when he finally wore the crown she would stand at his side as his wife.
Nefru took a deep breath, attempting to quiet her heart while her servants one by one bowed from the room to await her in the hall, all but the Keeper of The Wardrobe who would follow. Slipping into her sandals, Nefru straightened her shoulders, following her entourage down the hall and through the palace. Though life as a princess may seem an easy one, love was not, and she must be certain Moses' heart held room for no other.
* * *
Far from the bustle of the palace and Avenue of Rams crowded with well-wishers, beyond the city gates and villas that marked the edge of the desert a handful of ruffians romped with Prince Thutmose III, taking aim at their swiftly moving prey. The desert glowed with the morning sun as if afire, and every living creature seemed to stir beneath Ra's breath.
"After it!" Thutmose shouted, jerking the reigns of his chariot this way and that in an effort to overtake the tiny animal. His sturdy build appeared like the painted reliefs of his grandfather, Thutmose I, which decorated the walls of Karnak and halls of the palace.
Thutmose skidded to a stop amid a cloud of dust, his eyes on the target that had taken cover behind a bush. The furry form could still be seen, panting hard as it attempted to become invisible. Thutmose stretched his bow with a muscled arm and let the arrow fl y, penetrating the bush but missing the hare by a breath. It scampered from its hiding place as Thutmose pulled another arrow to the string, lengthening his reach and following the prey with his eye. Releasing his grip, the arrow whistled through the air and into its mark, fastening the rabbit to the ground where it wriggled momentarily as if to free itself, then stilled.
Thutmose grinned.
"Got him," Amenhab announced, "pierced as surely as a bloody Hyksos."
Thutmose stepped from his chariot. "I wish it were a Hyksos," he muttered, "though I'll never have the chance for a real battle, not if Hatshepsut has her way."
Amenhab laughed, attempting to lighten his friend's mood. "I don't see why not? Pharaoh is far too taken with peacemaking to bother, and Moses couldn't possibly defend every border. You may make a soldier yet, perhaps even General."
Thutmose snorted, trying to picture it, but could only see Moses at the head of Egypt's army and himself at the rear. He shook his head. "I doubt I'll ever have the privilege of real combat, unless we face our enemies in Egypt."
"With the borders as unsettled as they are, you may have your wish," Amenhab answered gravely.
Rekmire, dark skinned and wiry, perked his ear toward the river. "Do I hear trumpets?" He looked at Amenhab, his eyes wide. "Might Moses have returned?"
"By Amon!" Amenhab searched the distance, seeing a cluster of sails at port and leapt to his chariot, leaving a cloud of sand in his wake as he and Rekmire attempted to out-race each other to the river.
Thutmose stared after them, his gaze moving to the wide ribbon of blue and the foremost ship that reflected the sun as if Amon himself had entered the port of Thebes.
"Moses," he whispered, his face impassable. If only he were heir to the throne instead of Moses he knew what he would do with Egypt's power. He would march on the east as his grandfather had, and in a series of swift campaigns, would push the Hyksos from the edge of the earth, exacting tribute from every Syrians city-state from Egypt to the Euphrates. He would sail to the Isle of Thera and take captive the beautiful women depicted on their vases, and would fill the temple of Karnak with treasures, buying the gods' blessings and his own eternity. Then, when Egypt had become the greatest nation on earth and he the greatest warrior, he would rebuild the capital of Avaris in the Delta as his grandfather had, and would create a city rivalling Thebes itself.
Thutmose clenched his teeth, his nostrils flared as he picked up the reigns, urging his horse to a run. Unlike Moses, however, born of royal and divine blood, his own blood was only half royal and questionable at that. If he had not looked so much like his grandfather he doubted he would even have had the privilege of living at the palace, or of watching Moses assume roles he could only dream of occupying.
* * *
South of Egypt's border in Kerma, capital of Kush Ta-Seti, "Land of the Bow," a hut glowed with light as a shaman performed the rite of sacrifice. Tossing a handful of incense into the fiery mouth of the idol, the flame flared, letting loose a billow of smoke like breath as the shaman waved his arms in incantation. Still the icon stared unblinking above the fire, the smell of burning flesh mingling with the sweet scent of incense.
The shaman called for the liver of the beast just sacrificed in order to read the future of the one who had requested the divination. He studied it then stared more closely, his mouth gaping in horror. Stretching out his arms, his body fell rigid and trance-like to the floor.
Tasha, daughter of the village chieftain, watched in horror from the shadows of the hut. Her hair fell in a cascade about her face, framing her features in the firelight while she stared at the image as if fearing it would speak. What had Ukuru read in the liver? What had he seen so terrible in her future?
Slowly the shaman forced himself from the dirt floor as dust clung to him like a garment.
"Tasha," he whispered, "you must bring your father at once."
"Tonight? What is it, Ukuru? I asked only that you tell me who I would marry." Her eyes fearfully held his.
"The gods have chosen to reveal more than just your destiny, little one." He paused, wondering if he dared disclose what he had seen, though he did not fully comprehend it himself.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes in an attempt to remember every detail. "Two sons will arise from Egypt. One will sweep away the nations of the earth like shards of pottery from a table."
Tasha's mind raced. Egypt had done little in the form of aggression while ruled by their female pharaoh, and every surrounding nation, including Kush, thought them easy prey. How could Egypt possibly strengthen itself now?
The shaman's eyes shot open as if sensing her disbelief. "I tell you I saw it, multitudes dead and more prisoners than Egypt can hold. A new Pharaoh will assume power and will change the face of the earth."
Tasha's eyes brimmed with tears. "Then will Kerma be destroyed?"
The shaman peered into the smoky darkness as if seeking the answer. "After this new Pharaoh the second son will arise, and with the help of a powerful god, will overcome the first."
A tear trickled down Tasha's cheek. "But what has this to do with me, and what of our people?"
"Your future, Tasha, is entwined in the destiny of one of these men. You will save the lives of your people as surely as he will save his."
Tasha's eyes formed a question, her lips quivering. "Am I to leave my people? Do you read no future for me here?"
Ukuru looked wistfully at her, wishing he could offer some comfort other than the truth. "I see you sailing north on an Egyptian vessel by which you will never return."
Tasha shook her head, her hands over her ears as she ran from the hut and into the darkness, hardly feeling the stone path beneath her feet that led from the centre of the village to the jungle. She wished she had never entered the shaman's door. Her mother had warned her that knowing the future was too great a burden. She felt it now as if a weight hung about her neck so she could hardly breathe. Why would she have to go away? She loved her family, her people, and her home. Her father would not allow it. He would incite the Madjai warriors to protect her.
But as soon as she thought the words she realized their futility. When had the shaman's visions not come true? If this new pharaoh stormed their border as Ukuru predicted, Kush would have to relent or perish. Yet the holy man had said she would save her people. How? What could she possibly do to help?
Veering from the path she turned toward the river, falling onto the mossy bank and clinging to it as if weeping against her mother's bosom. The river seemed to cry with her as it tumbled past her beyond the bank. Lifting her eyes to the blur of stars overhead, she prayed with all her heart that just this once the shaman's words would be proven wrong.
* * *
Hatshepsut tossed on her bed in the darkness. Throwing off her coverlet, she felt for her sandals, peering about the bedchamber, seeing only the shadow of the inlaid crown on a bust in the corner where she hung her jewels and the ankh she wore for protection. She stood, pacing the polished floor, remembering an incident thirty years earlier that haunted her still.
She was fifteen and standing on the bank of the Wadi Tumilat, the easternmost branch of the Nile in the Delta. The moon hung low, spilling silver onto the river and washing over the bulrushes at its edge as mists rose about her like mesh curtains.
Hatshepsut loved the outdoors, the feel of grass between her toes, the wind against her bare skin, the movement of water as it rippled past her body like a silken garment. Her mother had called her a fish when she was younger and her father had built her a pool at the palace in Avaris that she might swim safely. She was not at the palace this night, however, but far from the capital at their summer home near Pithom.
Hatshepsut had loosened the clasp about her hair, shaking her tresses free. Slipping off her garment, she dove into the water like a silver fish. She alone had visited their summer residence at Pithom, leaving her mother at Avaris while her father had gone on another of his many campaigns, attempting to push the Hyksos farther east from Egypt's borders. His parting words rang ominously in her ears.
"Upon my return you will marry your half-brother, Thutmose II, and provide Egypt an heir."
Hatshepsut had found herself hoping her father never returned. She hated her half-brother and couldn't imagine him pawing over her. He did nothing but eat and drink, and gawk at the naked dancers. She felt herself merely an ornament waiting to assure him his place on the throne. As sole surviving child of the pharaoh and his great wife, Ahmose, she alone could bestow the right of rulership. But why had the gods given her such a detestable brother?
Hatshepsut stood in the frigid water, listening. Had she imagined it, or had she heard a cry?
A movement rustled the grass and she turned, instantly alert, aware that crocodiles were not uncommon in these waters. She backed a step toward shore, watching the reeds that formed a silver wall between her and the palace. Then she laughed aloud. It must have been the wind.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Two Sons From Egyptby R. S. Smith Copyright © 2006 by R. S. Smith. Excerpted by permission.
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