Synopses & Reviews
Chapter OneYear 9 of the Reignof His Majesty Thutmose IHow I detest this morning hour set aside for "readying our person. It is not amusing to be readied.Today is especially bad. Pekey, Mother's maid, who is supposed to be an artist with cosmetics, takes out all her enormous spite on me. Like a farmer with a sharp plow, she digs the comb into my scalp, raking up ridges of skin. With relish she concocts tangles which must be yanked out. Dabs kohl in my eyes. Scrubs a cleansing cream of chalk and oil into my cheeks till they sting like scorpion bites. And all the while she coos, "Ah, she is beautiful as the morning star! Such a complexion . . ." so that the serving women will believe she admires me.Take care, Pekey. I will get even for every dig, yank, and sting, be assured. Ow! You will regret "that tangle, pig.My nurse, Henut, enters the scene, calm, unctuous. She surveys Pekey's smug face, my sulky one. Have I offered my morning's thanks to Amon-Re, she wishes to know. Gratitude unending is due from me and my brothers, the most fortunate beings in the world.I stare at her, unblinking as a cobra. "Fortunate? Why?"Henut swells like a pigeon, happy at the opportunity to preach. "Ah! You ask? To be born Egyptian is immense fortune. No one will argue it."Well, of course not, everyone has that much sense.She rattles on. "To be a member of the most powerful, beautiful, healthy country on earth. To be royalty. To belong to a great dynasty, with a father who is God-King, a mother who is Great Queen, two princes for brothers, and you yourself a princess." She stops for breath.No more -- I know the rest by heart. I live in the finest dwelling in Egypt, the Great House; I eat delicate food, dressin elegant clothing, wear spectacular jewelry. At thirteen years of age I can do -- almost -- anything in the world I wish to do.I consider. Possibly Henut is right. What more could I want?Oh, I decide, a good deal more. I am not completely fortunate. After all, I am a girl."Not true," Henut would retort. "In Egypt the line of succession passes through women, not men.""The line of succession is boring.""You are easily bored," Henut says with a sigh. "And restless. Ay, you are restless."And why not? If I were a boy I could shoot arrows and row a boat and drive a chariot and swim. One day I could be a soldier and lead men in expeditions against the vile foreigners, as my father does."Ow!" Pekey has wielded the pumice stone with such vigor that she draws blood. I return to the present, suck my finger, and glare. She simpers.What do I expect? She is a slave, a Nubian princess captured in battle. From royalty to servant is a far fall, and she resents it. Nevertheless, that is not my fault. My scratched finger I add to the score I will repay. I brood. And suddenly I conceive my revenge.Waiting until Henut has left the room, I ask in a low, confidential voice, "Why is it, Pekey, you are always sent to help with my makeup? Henut says you apply kohl much too lavishly, so that one is left looking like a dancing girl."Pekey's face lengthens at the affront. "Now, Your Highness, I make up your own mother the Great Queen's face....""Using so much color on the cheeks that she appears to have a fever."There is silence while Pekey putters with my equipment, the bronze mirror with the ivory handle, palettes of ground malachite for the eyes, ocher for the lips and cheeks, and an enormous assortment ofsmall jars and unguent spoons. There is even a pair of boxwood containers in the form of two Asiatic maids carrying jars. They belong to Mother and hold perfumed oils.I drum my heel on the floor. "Well, let us continue, Pekey. As is said everywhere, you work slowly. We must waste no more time."The lesser maids are holding their breath. They look scandalized. At me or at Pekey?"I have never heard I am slow ... Highness." Pekey is recovering.My voice is firm and cool. "I have heard so. From superior sources." (A lie; Mother praises Pekey's technique to the skies.) "It is not a grave fault. Merely an annoying one."Pekey does not answer. As she mixes ocher to rouge my lips, I see her fingers tremble. Ah, she begins to believe me! Now, wretch, you will suffer, you will for once doubt your skill, you will not be so sure your mistress trusts you. Indeed, I will get even for your petty persecutions.And then ... I feel a painful, terrible remorse for hurting someone. It is always the same. I can be rude and ruthless and cruel to a person I dislike, but if he betrays his wounds, my heart shivers as though stroked by a cold knife and I despise myself.I sigh. "It is all a joke, Pekey.""Joke, Princess?" She massages the color into my face and neck, and her eyes will not meet mine."Yes, yes, it is all untrue what I said. I did it to tease you. Henut and everyone say only good things about your makeup."Still rubbing in the grease, Pekey asks softly, "You do not like me, young mistress?"Oh, how tiresome! Why do I ever start such silly tricks when they end so lamentably?"Yes, I "do like you, Pekey." Actually I hate her, but now I am caught like a heron in a snare. I must lie to give her comfort and toease my guilt.
Synopsis
To be born Egyptian is immense fortune.
Hatshepsut, a thirteen-year-old Egyptian princess, doesn't feet that she is entirely fortunate. After all, she is a girl. She grumbles about taking lessons with her brothers. Why should she study reading and writing, literature, history, and mathematics? As a princess, she will never need to be skilled at these things.
But Hatshepsut little knows what life has in store for her. She will need to know all these things and more. By the time she is fourteen years old, she will be a wife, and shortly thereafter, a queen. The early death of her husband makes Hatshepsut Queen-Regent, ruling jointly with her husband's son -- a son who is only a child, and the child of a concubine at that. Hatshepsut thrives as Queen-Regent, creating opportunities to act for the good of her people and the glory of Egypt. Yet she chafes at sharing her reign with a child. Seizing the supreme opportunity, Hatshepsut names herself Pharaoh, setting aside the young heir to the throne. She rules as King of Upper and Lower Egypt for more than twenty years.
Dorothy Sharp Carter's fictional account is based on the real life of the Pharaoh Hatshepsut. It is a fascinating story of a determined woman who defied extraordinary odds and ruled her people well,