Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Thutmose
    Thutmose
    Thutmose
    Ebook116 pages1 hour

    Thutmose

    By Joan H. Parks

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    In Amarna during the time of the heretic pharaoh Akhenaton, the master sculptor Thutmose meets a mysterious woman who is is the pharaoh's service. She has wandered since her people were killed, but is haunted by memories. Drawn together by his art, their love commences. The pharaoh sickens, there is danger from the political turmoil. With the death of the pharoah, Thutmose knows Amarna will be deserted and his art works destroyed.

    Pregnant, she leaves Amarna and travels north along the Mediterranean. She is adopted by a clan that trades and makes jewelry. Her son, greatly talented, becomes a master jeweler. Her new family, though menaced by robbers and bandits along the trade route, flourishes. She yearns for Thutmose still, even as her son reaches manhood and establishes his own family. She ages, weakens, and still is waiting for Thutmose, her great love. This is a story of yearning, of the way love is passed through the generations. Will Thutmose ever leave Egypt to be with her?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisheriUniverse
    Release dateJun 21, 2012
    ISBN9781475934120
    Thutmose
    Author

    Joan H. Parks

    Joan H Parks lives in Chicago, IL, and after a career in clinical research refreshed her life by becoming a fiction writer. Her undergraduate degree was from the University of Rochester in Non-Western Civilizations, her MBA from the University of Chicago. She studies poetry, including Yeats and the Canterbury Tales (in Middle English); has an interest in the ancient world which she has gratified by studying at the Oriental Institute of The University of Chicago; is an aficionado of The Tales of Genji, which she rereads every year or so. Her family regards these activities with amusement, for she also listens to Willie Nelson and Dierks Bentley. She can be contacted at joanhparks.com

    Read more from Joan H. Parks

    Related to Thutmose

    Related ebooks

    General Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Collins Ferry Landing

      Jul 1, 2020

      for my father Only rivers bottom out like this.Only rivers bottom out with this kind of conviction.Not humans, or, at least, not humans asindisputably human as you were,trapped in consciousness’s surplus, exilic,animalized absurdity, writhing in its

      5 min read

    • Article

      Mrs Macarthur’s Secret Diary

      Jun 17, 2020

      Mrs Macarthur’s Secret Diary
      7 min read

    • Article

      Mrs Macarthur’s Secret Diary

      Jun 17, 2020

      Mrs Macarthur’s Secret Diary
      7 min read

    • Article

      A CLOSER LOOK AT Being a Fox

      Nov 1, 2017

      A CLOSER LOOK AT Being a Fox
      7 min read

    • Article

      Magical Realism

      Apr 21, 2020

      Magical Realism
      5 min read

    • Article

      Unlearnable Lessons on My Father’s Deathbed

      Mar 21, 2017

      I was at my father’s side much of the time in his final weeks, a witness to both the gifts and miseries of being near death. Nurses came and went, patient, long-suffering. They sat beside him for hours at a time, dousing spongy lollipops in water and

      5 min read

    • Article

      Six Poems

      Jul 1, 2018

      When I said, to my mother, What was a goodthing about me as a child?, my mother’sface seemed to unfurl from the center,hibiscus in fast motion, the anthersand flounces springing out with joy. Oh you wereenchanting, she breathed. What do you mean—craz

      5 min read

    • Article

      Soft Blues

      Feb 15, 2021

      Soft Blues
      15 min read

    • Article

      Six Poems

      Nov 1, 2023

      loved best. Words I have neversaid. New sentence, at 80. Of coursenot more than his children, and their children. That goeswithout saying—but I want to lay down eachelement of love’s house. First,the hole, under—apple cellar, potato cellar,cellar to

      5 min read

    • Article

      What The Magpie Says

      Oct 16, 2022

      What The Magpie Says
      8 min read

    • Article

      Learning To Walk

      Oct 28, 2019

      Learning To Walk
      5 min read

    • Article

      Book Extract

      Oct 24, 2020

      Book Extract
      5 min read

    • Article

      The Wise Ones

      Sep 1, 2020

      Victoria Ruskin, 35, from Windsor Sitting in my hidden high walled garden on the borders of Surrey, a place with many connections to the fae folk, I smiled as I watched the fairies dance around me. As always, I was delighted that they were courteou

      4 min read

    • Article

      The Woman At Home

      Jan 29, 2019

      From the journals of Samuel P. Perceval,bookseller: Covent Garden, Dec. 15, 1974 This spring, I found a curious letter sewn into the hem of a coat belonging to my late great-aunt Florence. Crudely enveloped in what appeared to be a page torn from

      5 min read

    • Article

      A Little Love

      Apr 5, 2023

      A Little Love
      7 min read

    • Article

      Love Letters

      Mar 7, 2022

      MY BELOVED ANGEL, I am nearly mad about you, as much as one can be mad: I cannot bring together two ideas that you do not interpose yourself between them. I can no longer think of nothing but you. In spite of myself, my imagination carries me to you.

      5 min read

    • Article

      Announcing The winners Of Our FLASH CONTEST

      Feb 29, 2020

      I sever the first two fingers of my left hand on a Tuesday. They fall to the ground at my feet, causing a momentary confusion as I wonder what tree has dropped this odd fruit. Then I see the crescent scar left behind by a fish hook and know that thes

      8 min read

    • Article

      The Inventions of Witches

      Oct 30, 2017

      The Inventions of Witches
      7 min read

    • Article

      Notes From A Nothing

      Feb 14, 2020

      Notes From A Nothing
      13 min read

    • Article

      It Happened to Me…

      Jan 25, 2024

      It Happened to Me…
      6 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Thutmose

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Thutmose - Joan H. Parks

      Copyright © 2012 by Joan H Parks.

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

      This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

      iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

      iUniverse

      1663 Liberty Drive

      Bloomington, IN 47403

      www.iuniverse.com

      1-800-Authors (1-800-288-4677)

      Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

      Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

      Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

      ISBN: 978-1-4759-3411-3 (sc)

      ISBN: 978-1-4759-3412-0 (ebk)

      iUniverse rev. date: 06/15/2012

      CONTENTS

      Part 1 Amarna

      Tell el-Amarna, 18th Dynasty c 1350BCE, the heretic pharaoh Akhenaton

      Grandfather

      Tell el-Amarna, 18th Dynasty, Egypt—1337 BCE

      Tell el-Amarna, 18th Dynasty, Egypt—1336 BCE, the end of the reign of the heretic Phaoah

      Part 2 A New Life

      Chapter 1 18th Dynasty, Egypt—1336 BCE

      Chapter 2 In the Levant—up the Mediterranean from Egypt 1335 BCE

      Chapter 3 My child

      Chapter 4 1333 BC—Two years later

      Chapter 5 Hoval goes to Egypt

      Chapter 6 Hoval, Thutmose’s son tells his story

      Part 3 Hoval

      Chapter 1 Hoval’s Test

      Chapter 2 Hoval and Arina join their lives

      Chapter 3 Turmoil

      Chapter 4 1311 BC. Her story is almost finished

      Part 4 Thutmose

      Chapter 1 Thutmose

      Chapter 2 We plan

      Chapter 3 Thutmose speaks

      Chapter 4 Violence erupts

      Epilogue

      87719591_edited.jpg

      Part 1

      Amarna

      Tell el-Amarna, 18th Dynasty c 1350BCE, the heretic pharaoh Akhenaton

      I entered his life—a quiet woman running errands for the royal family.

      Thutmose, Overseer of Works and Sculptor, carved in the ways of his ancestors: barely three, his chisel work a marvel; at six apprenticed; at fourteen a master with his own studio; at twenty-three given the pharaoh’s studio and permitted, then encouraged to leave the ways of his ancestors and see the world in a new way.

      The workrooms were new to me. I carried a tray of delicacies of fresh fruits, newly baked marsh birds, breads warm from the ovens as well a finely brewed beer, wondering at what I would find. The man in charge sat quietly in the courtyard, intent on his work. Thutmose.

      Instantly I was aware of him, sought to catch his attention. My movements grew more languorous, my chin rising to show my profile in its most advantageous, amused as I readied for the seduction game. While not dull in the Pharaoh’s service, I longed for some sign that still I was of this world. Swaying my body against the fine linen of my robes, knowing that he, too, was amused and stirred as I caressed myself with the linen, I looked about to be polite. The only sculptures I had seen before I came to the Pharaoh’s new city were massive, proclaiming victory over foes, counting the hands or penises of foreigners killed and the triumph of the Pharaoh.

      Then—so shocked that I forgot my garments of linen, my ways of being like my surroundings—a carved head of the Pharaoh’s beloved Nefertiti, lines outlining where inlays would show her eyebrows, her eyes still empty awaiting jewels, all of the limestone brimming with life.

      Did you do this? I stared and could not prevent the revealing command.

      Had those large rough hands formed such delicate beauty?

      Yes.

      He waited, almost indifferent. He knows what he has done, thought I, he knows what he is, so very sure of himself. I could almost hear him thinking ‘so little time, I must not waste any of it, I must get back to my work.’ His hand, momentarily stilled at my interruption, rose with the brush which was seemingly part of him; part of the sweep of his muscular brown arm, the strength of his brown back gleaming in the sun, the sturdy legs tensed as all his concentration was on the head he shaped. Like all the men in this hot land, he wore nothing but fine linens to cover those parts that all people cover. Frequent bathing in ponds and the great river as well the sweet oils used lavishly kept him smelling fresh.

      I delivered the messages and then, slipping back into my other self, said

      I must not delay your work; I will leave this tray for you, and return later for it.

      Already he was gone, all his being concentrated on the head he shaped. He seemingly ignored the apprentices who painted lotus, rushes, marsh birds on the walls of the compound; but I could see he was the master, the young apprentices watched his every move, trying to absorb his genius, trying to please him.

      Thus we started, he aware that all that others saw of me was a disguise, I aware that his undisguised self, so clear to me, few around him would see and value. I brought messages and trays of fresh foods, and took back the empty trays and tantalizing reports. Returning to the royal enclosure, I would be sent back sooner, ostensibly carrying messages again, but really so I could bring back news of what I had seen. At first it was just once a day, and then my visits became more frequent.

      He worked incessantly. I became a familiar sight around the workshops just as I was in the royal enclosure, and carrying messages became more common until I was the only one who carried them. Gradually, he permitted me to watch him work, to see him as he created, to hear him muttering, to watch as he took his tool and made a quick mark; that turned out perfect, to me, if not to him. His work deepened swiftly and the beauty he created seemed to come straight from the gods, or the one god, Aten, if one believed with the Pharaoh. The royal family came more frequently to the workshop, and were pleased.

      One day, he pulled a stool next to him and gestured for me to sit. Silently I watched him work, week after week. Gradually I realized that he sensed my reactions to the work unfolding from his hands. A twitch of a shoulder muscle, a leaning forward to make a mark on a piece of plaster, the irritation quickly concealed when an apprentice approached to ask a question, or just to look. And then it seemed he worked where I most wanted him to, the arch of an eyebrow, the line of a bird in the rushes. Sometimes I was tempted to point a finger at what needed changing or emphasis, and that thin proud mouth, showing little of his interior world, would quirk with humor and he would indulge me by working with his brush at that spot.

      After much time passed, he disturbed our intent silence,

      You are not of our people; does it not make your heart ache to live alone among us?

      Just as in his unfolding art, he went to the essence.

      Yes.

      Have you no lover to share the nights with?

      No, it is too dangerous.

      This man would be contemptuous of evasions or half truths; now was not the time for disguises.

      Why dangerous?

      Who could I trust when I am so close to the royal family? If I have to leave quickly, could I bear to leave part of my heart here? Would not that hesitation mean danger?

      Yet, that first day when you came, you were willing, and I know you still are.

      That first day I was amusing myself, as were you. Now it is different—for you too.

      You are becoming part of my work, I need you by me.

      His rough voice was full of certainty and pain. Hearing that pain and acceptance, questions spun in me. Did that not mean he, too, was aware of danger all around him, and in the very air? Was he protecting me? Himself? It is his land. He must see dangers that I am not aware of. The dangers that come from being close to the powerful, as I am, and as he is, swirl around us. Faces that conceal meanings, soft words that are meant to deceive, secret ambitions, not so secret ambitions.

      You honor me.

      He hears the force behind my words, even though his people have a different code of honor.

      "For the moment, I am favored by the Pharaoh and he grants me vast resources because what

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1