Oracle of the Reeds

© 2018 Thomas Bauer All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN 978-1-54394-984-1 eBook 978-1-54394-985-8

For my wife Joyce,

who has always been fascinated by Ancient Egypt.

Dedicated with much love.

Table of Contents

PREFACE

PROLOGUE

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

EPILOGUE

PREFACE

In the autumn of 2015, I was supervising a group of archaeologists and native workers looking for possible digging sites about a kilometer west of Deir El Bahri, called Djeser-Djeseru in Ancient Egypt. We were searching along the base of a limestone cliff in clear view of the beautiful temple complex. It had proven to be several days of no promise when one of the workers spotted an interesting fissure in the rock. After examining it, we found enough evidence to bore further into the limestone. On the third day, we broke through into a small chamber, which appeared to be a tomb. What we found was quite unremarkable. A crude wooden coffin took up half the space, there were no accoutrements to accompany the corpse to the afterlife, and the walls were natural stone and undecorated.

Disappointed, we transported the coffin to our field lab. The wood of the coffin had disintegrated severely and we could barely make out the cartouche at the head. After cleaning and treating the wood, we managed to make out the name Senmut, a common enough Egyptian name, but surely not the powerful favorite of the female pharaoh Hatshepsut.

The mummy inside was badly decomposed, the result of shoddy embalming or more likely a rush job. What was remarkable about the find were the ten papyrus scrolls that were nestled on each side of the corpse. They were in fragile condition and we carefully packaged them and sent them off to the museum at Cairo for restoration and analysis.

The translation provided by the Egyptologists at the museum indicated that the text seemed to confirm that the author was indeed Senmut, the Right Hand of the King, enabler of an unlikely monarch. The story contained in the papyrus raised a puzzling question. How had the man who attained the title Greatest of the Great fallen so low to end up in such a humble tomb? Archaeologists had already discovered two magnificent tombs he had built for his final resting place? There had always been mystery surrounding his fall from grace. Thutmose III had apparently tried to erase both his and Hatshepsut’s memories by desecrating their monuments and erasing any trace of their histories.

What is contained in the papyrus scrolls we discovered is unlike anything in Egyptian literature. In the past, there has only been conjecture as to the relationship between the female pharaoh and her favorite. If this autobiography is true, it completely rewrites an important era of ancient history. What is contained in the scrolls appears to be highly believable. The reign of Hatshepsut has only been confirmed in the previous century, and now we have what appears to be a primary source to guide us to a time that has up to now been left to the imagination of Egyptologists. In the past, archaeologists and Egyptologists have had to read between the lines to recreate Egyptian history. The hieroglyphics on monuments and the walls of tombs contain the words of kings boasting of their accomplishments to enhance their legacies. Senmut’s story appears to be an honest account of his rise and fall.

After receiving the translation from the Cairo Museum, we took it back to the university where we attempted to place the events described in chronological order, organizing them into chapters to facilitate a clearer understanding for the lay reader. As with all historical writing, one must leave it up to the reader to determine what is truth and what is fiction. The scrolls have been confirmed by experts to be of the period we call the New Kingdom. It is with the greatest humility that we offer to you the reader, the apparent writings of Senmut in the hopes that it will increase your knowledge of a fascinating period of world history.

Edwin J. Harrington PHD

Professor of Archaeology

Harvard University, Cambridge Massachusetts

May 14, 2017

*Translator’s note: Although I have tried to use the ancient names of places and cities mentioned by Senmut, I have reverted to using the Greek names for Memphis (called Aneb-Hetch in ancient times) and Thebes (called Waset). These two great cities of Egypt are mentioned so often, it was felt original names would confuse the reader.

**The modern reader may find referring to a female monarch as king odd, but that is exactly what Hatshepsut was called. There was no word for queen. The king’s most important wife was referred to as The God’s Wife. The term pharaoh was not used until Thutmose III adopted it.

PROLOGUE

I Senmut, Greatest of the Great, Master of All People, Chief of the Whole Land, Councilor of the Right Hand, Steward of the God’s Wife, Steward of the King’s Daughter, Wearer of the Royal Seal, Master of the Palace, Prophet of Amun, Steward of the Estates of Amun, Overseer of the Works of Amun; I Senmut the wise and Senmut the fool put these words to papyrus in hopes that they may shed light on the truth my enemies have sought to obliterate. May whosoever find these words share them so that the ages may know the story of Senmut and Hatshepsut, Maatkare, king of Upper and Lower Egypt.

I had spent fifteen years in exile. I found refuge in Gebal,¹ a great sea port, but there came a time I began to feel the mortality in my bones, and my stomach and brain began to play malicious tricks on me. An Egyptian cannot die in a land where the dead are buried underground and covered with dirt, or where they are cremated and their ashes sealed in an urn. One must die in the land of his forefathers where he can be properly prepared for his afterlife in the Field of Reeds. Despite the danger, I boarded a trading ship bound for Memphis in the land where I had attained greatness.

There is nothing stronger than the lure of home. It is as though the gods are using an invisible force to pull you back into the world from which your forefathers sprang. I have smelled the cedars of Gebal and the fragrant flowers of Punt and I was intoxicated, but even the basest odors emanating from the shores along the Nile are far more alluring. It is the aroma of home. When you have been far away, a moment never passes when you don’t long for the those smells and the relentless heat of the desert sun to bake your skin. You ache to dip your ankles in the cooling waters of the sacred river. You thirst to hear the names of the gods from whom you have sprung intoned once more.

As soon as we reached the Nile delta, I knew I was home. At my first view of the river I felt renewed as if my youth had returned. The mingled odors of river mud, of human traffic, wildlife excrement and decay roused in me the life that had been dormant for so long. The moment we docked at Memphis, I felt the urge to run down to the shore and leap into the welcoming waters as I once did as a boy. The legs would not obey the mind. I staggered to the water’s edge and waded in up to my knees. If I had hoped the river would heal me of the afflictions of old age, I was sorely disappointed, but they did soothe my anxiety. Even though I was still a long way from Thebes, I sensed my enemies lurking all about me. I had grown a beard that had turned white and my hair and attire were in the style of the seafarers from Gebal. It was unlikely I would be recognized. Still, I couldn’t help but feel the eyes of my enemies staring at me wherever I went.

After spending the night in Memphis, I contracted a crusty ferryman named Bau, and offered him a handful of jewels to take me up river as far as he could. It was more than his usual fare, so he was happy to make a half day’s journey which would allow him to return home by evening. Bau’s skin had turned to coarse leather from his exposure to the sun and the river.

He was a friendly sort who shouted greetings and joked with other boatmen who shared the river. It was exhilarating to be in an open boat. I relished the music of the Nile, the gentle sound of the current as it meandered toward the sea, the happy chirping of small birds and the honking of geese. Along the shore some peasants were harvesting their crops while others were fashioning bricks from mud and straw. Their voices carried across the water. From time to time a giant ibis would glide above the water before us, accompanied by the song of a fisherman pulling up his nets.

All along the river I spied something familiar, a landmark I recognized, a cluster of huts or a herd of cattle, a peasant woman washing her linen in the river, always something to stir my memory. Suddenly in an old man’s brain the images of childhood reappear. The first spasms of love are rekindled. Every moment of your life, great or mundane, passes before you and around every bend of the river the sights become more familiar. Soon the Nile will flood the land, penetrating deep into the soil, enriching it, and yes, ennobling it. When the water recedes the farmers will plant their seeds into the fertile mud. Soon green sprouts will line the shore and blossom into grains and vegetables and fruits that will grace the tables of peasant and merchant and king alike. All will be good in the land.

I’ve been gone many years, I told Bau. I’ve heard little of my homeland. What news?

"I only know what I hear, Sir, but there is maat² in the land. The king is great and has conquered many lands and brought home great treasures.

I’ve heard that much, I said.

He announced proudly, My son was conscripted for duty and followed the king into battle.

I hope he survived.

Indeed he has, Sir, and prospers. He has his own boat now.

Little Thutmose had grown up and asserted his power. The bratty child had turned conqueror. This much I knew from news that had reached Gelba. And Hatshepsut, the great King Maatkare, what became of her?

I’m old enough to remember, Master, but no one speaks of her now. The rightful king is on the throne. I suppose she must be dead by now.

And Senmut?

Who Master?

Senmut, the Greatest of the Great. I took a certain pride in pronouncing my own name and title, but was disturbed by the confused look on the ferryman’s face.

I do not know that name, Sir.

It’s unimportant, I replied. I was merely remembering a name from long ago.

I leaned against the bow and fell asleep with the warm sun caressing my face. We stopped at Lahun in hopes that Bau could find a passenger to take back to Memphis. He introduced me to a ferryman named Nahu who agreed to take me as far as Oau, which would be my last stop

before I reached Thebes. He was a kindly man of advanced age, who was generous enough to offer me food and lodging in his humble hut. Sharing beer and bread and a fish soup his wife had prepared for us, we talked well into the night. I asked him the same questions I had asked his fellow ferry man.

Senmut the traitor, he said when I mentioned my name.

Traitor?

From what I hear, the king had his head dashed against the rocks and his corpse fed to the crocodiles.

An ignoble end for one who rose so high, I replied.

They say, said Nahu, relishing the opportunity to gossip, that he was a mere commoner who was born to serve, but took more than he gave and fancied himself higher than the gods themselves. Digested in the belly of a crocodile, he’ll never reside in the Field of Reeds.

I nodded sleepily, So he got what he deserved.

Indeed, replied Nahu with some satisfaction.

And his mistress, the king?

Dead and buried my lord, but she never was the king.

Never?

Thutmose was the true king.

Nahu woke me early in the morning. I roused myself drowsily and joined him before the fire for a meager breakfast of stale bread and dried fish. There was a slight chill in the air as we trudged down to the docks carrying the few belongings I had brought.

As we made our way up the river, we came to an ancient temple which faced toward the east so that the morning sun would cast its light on this tribute to a god. Already the building had been abandoned and was giving way to decay. Before long it would crumble and turn to dust. I could not abide the thought of that happening and turned away from the sight of it to view something eternal, the river that was flowing against the progress of the boat.

At Oau, I bid my new friend goodbye, and made my way into the town. Oau was a small village built above the flood line. There was a cluster of brick houses, a main street where tradesmen sold their wares, beer houses and brothels in abundance, and a temple of Isis. It reminded me so much of the town I grew up in that I began to weep. After having a meal and drink in a beerhouse, I managed to convince the proprietor with a few trinkets to allow me to sleep in his storeroom. One more leg in my journey remained.

The ferryman who would take me to Thebes did not seem to want to engage in conversation. His name was Sinuhe, the same name as the hero of the epic about an exile returning home just as I was. This Sinuhe loved to make coarse insults to passing boatmen who would return his vulgarity with their own vulgar retorts. When he was alone on the river he would amuse himself by singing. One of the songs he sang was the very same my mother used to sing to me. His voice was hoarse and out of tune, but it still brought tears to my eyes.

As we neared Thebes, I caught a glimpse of Dsejer-Dsejeru in the distance; my work, my temple and tomb, my tribute to the king. It was starkly beautiful, set against the cliffs that were transfigured to gold by the afternoon sun. I had almost forgotten that it was I and not some god who had transformed the desert so. When I beheld its beauty once more and realized I would never set eyes on it again, the tears flowed once more. Soon it disappeared from view.

When I saw Thebes appear before us, I knew I was home. Suddenly the hot sun, the golden hills, the desert sands, the bareness of the land had more allure than the green cedar covered hills and turbulent surf and the tranquil harbor of Gelba.

When we docked at the harbor, I bade Sinuhe farewell and began the rest of my journey on foot. My destination was the villa of my boyhood friend, Seneme. I had been told in Gelba that he was still alive and in power. He had become my enemy, but as I had saved his life, now it was his turn to save mine. Thebes had not changed. I made my way through familiar streets, past shops where I had traded, beer houses from where I had staggered home in a stupor, and brothels where I had tasted my first pleasures of the flesh. The familiar aromas of food mingled with the equally familiar odors of sweat and animal dung. I almost felt my youth returning. I had been enchanted by the city as a child, had ruled it in the name of the king in my prime, had paraded through it in glory, and escaped from it when I fell from power. I loved it but hated what it had become, for Thutmose was on the throne and he was my enemy. If it was discovered I was alive, he would pursue me and find pleasure in giving me a painful death.

The villa was still impressive. I had stayed there often as a boy when Seneme and I were students. I was greeted at the gate by a servant. I assured him that I was an old friend of his master, though I declined to give my name. Taking me at my word, he ushered me into the reception hall. Several minutes later a wizened old man limped in aided by a cane with an asp carved on the handle.

Who seeks my hospitality? he asked gruffly.

I walked up to him and stared deeply into his eyes, trying to see something familiar about him. The resemblance was vague. Seneme? I asked.

Indeed, what do you wish?

The years have either been kind or cruel enough to spare us, I replied. Do you not recognize your old friend, Senmut?

He recoiled almost in horror. Senmut! he repeated. How foolish you are to appear here. Don’t you realize they will kill you? They haven’t forgotten, you know.

I have no intention of showing myself. I am here to collect the debt you owe me.

What could you possibly want from me after all these years? he asked bitterly.

I had thought out my answer carefully. I want little beyond sanctuary, a small room to lay my head down in, a desk, paper, writing tools, food and water and the promise of a proper burial. I have come home to die, Seneme.

And if I precede you in death?

My misfortune.

He paced back and forth with the difficulty of a man in pain. We have not been friends for a very long time, Senmut. We have both given each other many reasons to hate, but if I am nothing else, I am a man of my word, and I have not forgotten the promise I made you.

I know, I said. It is why I am here. I trust you.

There was a small storage hut adjacent to the garden. While servants cleaned it out, I was permitted to eat and sleep in a guest room. Fortunately, no one was in the villa except for servants, a few harem women, and his son’s family. When the hut was prepared, I occupied it on the condition that I was not to leave it, except at night I could wander or sit in the garden. A servant girl brought me food and drink and collected my waste each day. Other than that, I spent the days and nights on the task I came home to accomplish.

The monuments, the temples, the walls of the tombs all told a story, but what sort of stories were they really? My own story, now hacked off my temples and tombs tell a tale meant to impress the gods and the generations who will come after me. As I cling to the last days of my life, I am determined to tell the truth so posterity and the gods who watch over us can never forget our greatness and our weakness, our loves, our mistakes, the good and evil we have done, and so with a few brush strokes, I begin my story.

1 Called Byblos by the Greeks, located in present day Lebanon.

2 Justice and order.

1

I was born in the village of Armant, a short distance up