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“It spells ‘Heba,’ if I’m not mistaken. Also meaning gift. And perhaps it’s pure coincidence, but Ehab and Heba are anagrams.”
“No coincidence,” Sorin stated unequivocally.
Ben tended to agree.
As they moved down the tunnel once more, there were scenes of the young prince’s training, as well as Hatshepsut herself. And while the warriors who trained with them, and the generals who took the prince under their wing were outlined boldly in relief, the shadow always remained shadow.
But his presence was pervasive throughout the portraits. Always behind Hatshepsut or surrounding her. Always towering other men, and therefore making it seemed as if she also towered over them.
“If Sorin is right, and the shadow is the Fated One, which also means that he’s the slave who bowed his head before her when she was a girl, who was he and what did he mean to Hatshepsut?” Ben thought out loud.
“The Secret Gift,” Ere immediately answered.
“Between being the real mother of Thutmose III and this shadow person, Hatshepsut certainly possessed no shortage of secrets.”
“And no shortage of gifts,” Ben added.
Thus far, both mother and son possessed what appeared to be nicknames that meant “gift.”
Could the shadow be the Secret Gift? It was as good a guess as any, Ben thought. But they weren’t done viewing the murals yet.
The tunnel had been straight thus far, but suddenly it curved sharply toward the right in a ninety-degree angle. The pictures on each side of the walls leading up to the juncture grew what could only be termed as “romantic” in nature.
Instead of the shadow embracing Hatshepsut as before, it seemed that Hatshepsut was almost “courting” the shadow.
He stood in front of her, always mirroring her stance, head bowed in the same way the slave from earlier bowed. As if listening to the Queen attentively. And she always gazed up at him with a sense of worship, it seemed, her lips always curved in a smile.
The ceiling of the tunnel reflected changes from day to night, painted with bright sun disks during daytime and gold embossed stars in a purple night when the day transitioned. The artistry was meticulous and fine, even more brilliant than any of Hatshepsut’s public monuments, including her Mortuary Temple.
If this was the passage to her tomb, a walk of life leading to an even better afterlife, then she must truly walk among the gods. For, no other Egyptian Pharoah had ever put such thought and heart into the place they would be laid to rest, as far as Ben could recall.
Whereas other Pharoahs’ tombs were boastful and extravagant, this tunnel was deeply personal. Yes, there were scenes depicting important events, but what drew the viewers eye was the relationship between Hatshepsut and her ever-present shadow.
“It’s a love story,” Ben murmured, awestruck.
“This is not the first tomb to depict more personal scenes versus public triumphs. Ramses II’s favorite wife, Nefertari, also commissioned celebrations of her personal journey in her tomb in the Valley of the Queens. But it was all about her. Not even the great Ramses was mentioned even once in her tomb murals.”
“This…almost from the very start, the second scene, in fact, Hatshepsut has not been without her shadow, whom presumably is the slave, the Fated One. They share every part of her story together. Her rulings at court. Her journey to Punt…”
“Well, there’s another secret,” Ere inserted.
“Wasn’t she supposed to have merely sent envoys on her behalf? These scenes show that she traveled there herself, accompanied as always by her shadow.”
“Who is he?” Ben mused, truly fascinated as well as stumped.
“There is nothing in historical records that refer to any male figure who was close to the Queen, except for Senenmut. But here,” Ben pointed to the drawing.
“The royal steward is clearly depicted as a short, portly, older man. And here is Pa-Nahsy. The King of Punt and his wife Ati. They are labeled accordingly. But the slave and shadow are never named. Only called the ‘Fated One.’”
“Is it just me, or are these scenes getting…hotter?” Ere suggested with a waggle of brows.
“She’s sitting on him like a chair, forward and backward. She’s lying on him and he’s lying on her. Here, he’s behind her…ahem. I think they’re doing the horizontal and vertical tango.”
“They’re doingallthe dances and the kama sutra too,” Ben muttered.
And yet, none of the scenes showed flagrant nudity or distastefulness. The Queen was always dressed in a simple white tunic, hair loose and short. It was just that the shadow and her figure melded together, intertwined, in every position imagined by man.
Looking at them, Ben felt a sense of wonder, and a bittersweet ache throbbed within his chest.
