Senenmut

Born to humble parents from Armant, near Thebes, Senenmut (whose name means “Mother’s Brother” or “Fraternal to the Goddess Mut”) began life far from the glitter of royal courts. Yet through remarkable intelligence and tireless service, he ascended the ranks of Hatshepsut’s household during Egypt’s 18th Dynasty, around 1470 B.C.

He held over eighty titles, including: architect, tutor, steward, overseer of royal works, and was entrusted with the education of Hatshepsut’s daughter, Princess Neferure. To be placed in such proximity to the royal bloodline spoke volumes of the trust the queen (then regent for the young Thutmose III) placed in him.

Senenmut’s most enduring achievement lies in stone: the magnificent Temple of Deir el-Bahari. As the architect of this serene terraced monument, he conceived a masterpiece of harmony between mountain and monument, where sunlight paints the colonnades gold each morning. His name, unusually for a non-royal, was once inscribed within the temple itself; a bold flourish that whispers of favour beyond the ordinary bounds of courtly service.

He also directed quarrying projects and temple constructions across Upper Egypt, his administrative seal found from Aswan to Karnak. It is little wonder he is often styled “the Great of the Great,” a title usually reserved for nobility born, not made.

Now to the murmurings that have teased historians for centuries: was Senenmut the lover of Hatshepsut? The evidence is tantalising but elusive. Among the graffiti at Deir el-Bahari, a risqué sketch depicts a man and woman in a distinctly compromising embrace; the woman wearing the royal crown. Many have claimed this is Senenmut with Hatshepsut herself, though no cartouche names them. Whether scandal, satire, or truth, it hints at the kind of rumour that often swirls around powerful women and their favoured companions.

What is known is that Hatshepsut’s trust in Senenmut was extraordinary. He built tombs for himself near her monuments; one (TT 71) at Sheikh Abd el-Qurna, another (TT 353) hidden beneath her mortuary temple itself, as though he wished to sleep eternally beneath her protection.

And then, silence. At the height of his influence, Senenmut disappears from the record. His statues were defaced, his inscriptions erased. Some believe he fell from grace after Hatshepsut’s death; others propose that Thutmose III, when reclaiming his kingship, sought to efface all trace of his step-mother’s bold experiment and her most devoted servant.

Yet even erased, Senenmut endures; in the quiet brilliance of the architecture he conceived, and in the lingering air of mystery that clings to his name. A man of ambition and artistry, whose loyalty (and perhaps love) for Egypt’s female pharaoh made him immortal in legend, if not in stone.

The Mummy of “Unknown Man C”: A face from Hatshepsut’s age

Discovered in 1881 within the celebrated Royal Cache at Deir el-Bahri (TT 320), Unknown Man C was among dozens of re-interred mummies hastily concealed by the priests of the 21st Dynasty to safeguard Egypt’s most sacred dead from tomb-robbers. His body, stripped of identifying wrappings and without a coffin or name, was listed simply as “an unknown man C” in the 1909 Catalogue of the Royal Mummies published by Grafton Elliot Smith and Warren Dawson.

When first unwrapped and photographed, the mummy was noted for his strikingly distinguished appearance; the high cheekbones, aquiline nose, and broad shoulders more reminiscent of a nobleman than a peasant. His hair, fine and slightly curled, falls to the shoulders, a style fashionable among men of the mid-Eighteenth Dynasty. The skin tone and facial modelling suggest a man of middle age, perhaps between forty and fifty years old.

The absence of inscriptions left scholars to speculation. In the early twentieth century, when Egyptology was still touched with romance, some proposed that this could be Senenmut himself. The theory arose chiefly from coincidence: Senenmut’s known tombs (TT 71 and TT 353) lie not far from Deir el-Bahari, and he, too, vanishes from the historical record under mysterious circumstances.

The facial structure of Unknown Man C; long, refined, was thought by some to accord with the statues of Senenmut found at Thebes, particularly those showing him cradling the princess Neferure. Yet there has never been an inscription, coffin fragment, or cartonnage naming him, nor any funerary equipment bearing his titles. The identification remains, at best, a romantic surmise.

Modern examination has been limited. The mummy has not undergone a complete CT scan or DNA analysis in published literature, unlike the royal mummies of the New Kingdom. Radiographic imaging of the cache in the mid-twentieth century suggested that Unknown Man C was well-preserved, the internal organs likely removed and the body resin-treated in typical 18th-Dynasty fashion. The arms lay straight along his sides.

No facial reconstruction or comparative craniometric study has yet been made against Senenmut’s sculpted portraits. Without such data, the identification cannot progress beyond conjecture. Egyptologists today generally regard the link as unproven, though still intriguing.

Viewed in profile, the mummy is hauntingly alive. The high cheekbones and sharp, fine nose cast a shadow reminiscent of noble portraiture. Strands of dark, wavy hair decorate a face with a strong jawline and masculine chin, and though the lips have receded, there lingers a faint suggestion of serenity. One feels that this man, whoever he was, had lived a life of some privilege and intelligence.

Should this truly be Senenmut, he has at last been found near the queen whose reign he helped immortalise in stone. If not, then Unknown Man C remains a spectral witness to that luminous age when Hatshepsut’s monuments rose like pale cliffs in the sun, and one remarkable commoner dared to stand beside a king in all but name.