I got out of bed and took one of my own dresses from the storage chest against the wall. It was a simple, old-fashioned thing, the linen clean and unpleated. I started to look for my jewelry, then remembered that I’d given all of it to Henenu and Nava, to redeem her sister. The only piece that remained was a strand of blue clay beads that had been overlooked in a corner of the chest. The string was frayed, but I tied it around my neck anyway, all the while laughing at my own vanity.
You’re going out to greet what might be your last day alive, but you just couldn’t show yourself without some pretty trinket!
Hush, I told myself. It’s not for me; it’s out of respect for the goddess.
After all you’ve learned, do you still believe there’s a goddess of truth and justice? Or a god of wisdom? Or of love? Or are they all just empty images that dishonorable mortals use to deceive and control others?
I don’t know. But I do know that even if all the gods and goddesses were to vanish from the Black Land tomorrow, I would still want to believe in truth and justice, wisdom and love. There is something greater than me in this world—a source of life, a comfort in darkness, a light that doesn’t fail. I can’t prove it by pointing to a statue and saying, “There. That’s where it lives. That’s what holds the light.” But I feel it; right or wrong, I feel it and I am grateful. Does it matter if I lift my hands before the statues of Ma’at and Thoth and Isis or if I lift my heart before Nava’s faceless, bodiless, homeless god, as long as I give thanks somehow?
Thanks! The bitter voice of doubt inside me was back. If you can give thanks for anything after today, it will be a miracle.
I don’t need miracles, I thought. I need justice.
One of my maids came stumbling into the room, wiping sleep from her eyes and yawning like a hippo. “Oh, you’re dressed,” she said. “I guess you don’t need me for anything.”
“You can bring me some breakfast,” I said. “And have your friend gather flowers for me. I want a wreath of blue lotus for my hair.”
“Umm … I don’t think she knows how to make a wreath. Me neither.”
“What a surprise,” I said with a half-smile.
At least the girls were capable of fetching me a hearty meal and of filling a basket with flowers. I wove my own wreath and had one of them hold the mirror when I placed it on my hair. The braids little Nava had made for me were still neat and shining, so all I needed to do to complete my preparations was paint my eyes and put on sandals. Then I went out into the courtyard to wait.
A group of four guards came to escort me to the Palace of Ma’at. None of them wanted to look me in the eyes. My step was light as we marched through the palace halls and out into the streets of Thebes. At one point, the leader of my armed escort asked if I felt equal to the walk to the temple or if I wanted to ride there in a chariot.
“Only if I can drive it myself,” I said, and did my best not to laugh at his shocked expression.
So we walked. The sun was still low in the east, and the sacred river was the deep blue of lapis lazuli. One of the necklaces I’d given to Nava was gold set with those precious stones, one of my favorites. I pictured her and Henenu, already on the river, sailing north to Memphis. A kind breeze brought me the green scent of reeds and tassel-topped papyrus plants, and I said a quiet prayer for their safe journey.
“My lady, don’t you worry; it’ll be all right,” one of my guards mumbled so quietly that I almost didn’t hear him. “Someone like you, so beautiful, you’d never do any of that stuff they’re saying you did.”
“How ugly do I have to be to be guilty?” I whispered back, joking. He turned red and clamped his mouth shut. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you,” I apologized in hushed tones. “Thank you for wishing me well.” He remained silent.
I had glimpsed the Palace of Ma’at before this day, but I had never really seen it. Karnak teemed with temples. In the past, before Thutmose revealed his true nature, he’d taken me to view the sacred city. My eyes were filled with the sight of so many different buildings, statues, and monuments that they all became a jumble in my mind. If anyone had asked me, “Did you see the Palace of Ma’at?” it would be like showing me a field of wheat and asking me if I’d noticed one particular grain.
Now I took note of it, gazing up and to either side as we entered the temple grounds. The way to the Palace of Ma’at was flanked by two sets of pylons—those gigantic paired walls whose only purpose was to remind the worshipper of mountains. Their faces were decorated with towering images of the rulers who had ordered their construction and the gods who blessed such devout pharaohs.
“They say the temple was built by that outrageous woman Hatshepsut.” My mind whispered the memory of Thutmose’s words when he’d pointed out this place in passing. “After her husband died, but before his heir was old enough to rule the Black Land, she dared to declare herself pharaoh! She dressed like a man while she held the crook and flail and scepter and tied on a false chin-beard when she wore the crown. Can you imagine that?” I remember how he’d preened when he added, “It didn’t last; I am named for the pharaoh who followed her unnatural rule. He restored the way things are supposed to be and erased her name and image from all the monuments.”
Erased, but not forgotten, I thought as we walked between the second set of pylons. I’d heard others speak of her—Hatshepsut, daughter of one pharaoh, wife of another, a woman with the fearlessness to ask why shouldn’t she govern her own land just because she wasn’t born a man. They said that she’d ruled wisely and well. Her reign brought peace and prosperity to the Black Land. The Thutmose who succeeded her brought war. I imagined her carved and painted story glowing beneath the layers of concealing plaster and the clumsy chisel blows that a petty, vindictive king had used so futilely, trying to unmake the existence of a heroic woman.