Father looked at me and shrugged.
I wasn’t worth fighting for. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Add no family to no home and no husband. I cursed Mesedptah under my breath. Then I left. What was I supposed to do now?
Aimlessly, I wandered down the now dark street in the direction of Ta Set Maat’s entrance. Night had fallen since my arrival. I was sweating; no air stirred in the enclosed lane. Scattered rectangles of light illuminated my steps; as was the custom in the village practically every door was open. People were gathered in reception rooms, drinking and talking and laughing, a few playing instruments and singing. I caught snatches of conversation – “robbers” and “executions” and “treasure” repeated over and over. What my husband and the others had done was the main topic of discussion in the village tonight and would be for years to come. I heard infants crying in a few houses, dodged running children. Cats slunk along the sides of the street. Out on the desert a few jackals yelped, their cries distant and mournful.
I passed Amennakht’s house. He and his extended family owned several dwellings in this part of the village. He was standing next to his oldest son, Harshire, in a doorway with a limestone lintel inscribed with his family’s name. Amenakht was smiling. Apparently, he’d successfully evicted Pagerger from my house and come home for dinner, no doubt to recount for his family his memorable and triumphant day. I noted a partly–decorated coffin in his reception room. Amennakht and his nine sons painted them for priests and officials and their fellow workers. He bartered his skill, just as Mesedptah had.
Amennakht’s youngest son, To, stepped into the street along with his daughter Beketaten and his wife, a daughter of an aged former gang foreman, Hay. I’d served as midwife at Beketaten’s birth nine years ago. Amennakht had named To after Vizier To, the official in charge of the southern section of the valley. Not surprisingly, because Vizier To had appointed Amennakht as Ta Set Maat’s chief scribe. To saw me and immediately headed back into his house.
“I’m so sorry, Neset,” Beketaten said sympathetically.
I nodded, grateful. The first kind word I’d heard all day, except from Grandfather.
Beketaten’s mother grabbed her arm and dragged her back into her house.
A dozen yards farther on I passed my former home. Penanuke and half a dozen friends were tossing the debris inside the reception room atop a pile alongside a wall. I quickened my steps.
“Neset? Is that you?”
My aged neighbor, Naunakht, peered at me from her doorway. She was one of the most respected women in the village, in her early sixties, gray haired and a bit stooped. Her first husband, Kenhirkhopeshef, had served over the course of four decades as scribe for three pharaohs – the second Ramesses, his son Merenptah, and his son, the second Seti. He’d married Naunakht when he was sixty and she but twelve and had doted on her for the remaining quarter century of his life. He’d even adopted her as his daughter to make sure she’d inherit his goods, among them an impressive library of papyrus documents. Her second husband, Khaemnum, a member of one of the work gangs, had passed away a decade ago. They’d had eight children. Her eldest and favorite son was the namesake of her first husband.
“They kicked me out of my house, Naunakht,” I said dispiritedly. “Then Father and Meresamun turned me away. I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“You’ll stay with me, Child,” Naunakht said.
“Everyone will shun you for helping me.”
“I’m a Lady of the House and far more influential than any woman and most of the men in Ta Set Maat,” Naunakht replied crisply. “No one would dare cross me.”
Grateful, I stepped inside.
Naunakht put an arm around me. “We’ll be cooler on the roof,” she said. “Bring food and drink,” she ordered a young granddaughter.
We climbed her stairs, sat in leather–bottomed chairs alongside the wall that separated her roof from what had been mine when I’d awakened this morning. The moon was rising, nearly full, illuminating the rooftops of the village and the surrounding valley and the tombs dotting the adjacent hillside and the heights in the west. The chairs faced a garden I tended for Naunakht, lush and green and fragrant. I had no desire to look over the wall at the remnants of mine.
“Mesedptah robbed the tomb of Ramesses the Great, Naunakht! He slept with other women! Lots of women. And girls!” I cried bitterly.
“Men of a certain status believe they’re entitled to do whatever they want, without consequence,” Naunakht said. “Including my first husband.”
“Kenhirkhopeshef? Really?”
“I’ve never told you about him?”
“Plenty. But nothing unsavory.”
Naunakht chuckled. “He came to the village when he was fifteen years old, an orphan. The scribe Ramose and his wife Wia adopted him. He was eventually promoted to full scribe, then succeeded Ramose in the fortieth year of Ramesses the Great’s reign. He served as chief scribe in this village for the next forty and recorded the construction of three royal tombs. I know for a fact that he took bribes from one of Mesedptah’s ancestors, Paneb, in his later years.”
“I thought everyone respected him.”
Naunakht shrugged. “He wasn’t very popular towards the end of his career, Neset. He became lax in his duties. He forced men who worked in the tombs to labor on his private projects. In fact, I still remember a tomb painter named Parahotep confronting him right about where you’re sitting. He said ‘I’m like a donkey to you. If you have beer you can’t be bothered with me. But if there’s work to do you send for me.’ But that’s how things work in this village, Child. Those who hold power make the rules, just like that bunch that destroyed your garden and took your house.”
I slept that night on Naunakht’s roof. Or tried to sleep. I lay on my back on a pallet, stared at the river of stars flowing across the sky, my hot skin caressed by a cooling breeze. The flower–scented breeze rustled the tall plants growing all around me. My mind was whirring. What had happened to me? I’d awakened this morning on a pallet beside Mesedptah in my house next door, a wife, a gardener, a healer. Now I was a widow with nothing in the world to call my own. I wasn’t part of Ta Set Maat’s workforce anymore either; I had no call on rations or supplies provided by Pharaoh to the village. I had no permanent place to sleep – I couldn’t stay with Naunakht forever. Was Meresamun right? Was I doomed to marry whatever man in Ta Set Maat would deign to take me in so I wouldn’t starve to death? Mesedptah had paid for his crime today – was I going to pay for it the rest of my life?
At dawn I rose and leaned with my forearms on the wall facing the villagers’ graves and watched the craftsmen troop up the path towards the Great Place to work on the modifications to Pharaoh’s tomb. They wouldn’t return to Ta Set Maat for eight days. I was thankful; I’d have a brief respite from men who were certain to court me. If the past was any indication they’d be relentless and I’d be miserable. After a quick breakfast I started watering and pruning and weeding Naunakht’s garden. Hopefully, following my normal daily routine would keep at bay at least for a few hours thoughts of what a mess my life had become, and how uncertain my future.
Naunakht joined me beneath the linen sunscreen on the roof for the midday meal. I was grateful for the break; the sun was fierce and I was sweat–soaked. I drank down half a jar of water without pausing and poured the rest over my head. The wet strands of my long hair were cool against my back and shoulders.
“Villagers have discovered you’re staying with me,” Naunakht said as I took a seat beside her. “All morning the women whose gardens you tend have been sending their children to tell you the same thing.”
“Let me guess. They don’t need my help anymore.”
“They don’t want a beautiful unattached woman tempting their husbands.”
“That’s me, Naunakht. So desperate to find a man to take care of me I’ll seduce any man I see.” I shook my head. “It’d serve them right, for watching Mesedptah cheat on me an
d not telling me.”
We ate, mostly in silence, watching the sun glimmer on the distant river and the breeze ripple the endless fields of emmer. Other women were eating on their nearby roofs; they ignored me. The shouts of playing children and the occasional cry of an infant and the trilling of birds and buzzing of insects in the garden were the only sounds. The village was a much quieter place with the men gone. A neighbor’s cat jumped onto the top of the wall separating its house from Naunakht’s and settled there with its paws tucked under and watched us, inscrutable.
“Will you read something to me?” Naunakht asked after we finished our meal.
Kenhirkhopeshef had been extraordinarily interested in the valley’s past. During his long life he’d accumulated a massive library of papyrus documents – some originals, some copies he’d made. Naunakht had let me browse them to my heart’s content ever since I’d become her neighbor after my marriage to Mesedptah. The past few years, nearly every time I’d tended her garden I’d read to her, for her eyesight had begun to fail.
“What shall it be today?” I asked. “The story of Ramesses the Great’s victory over the Hittites at Qadesh? Dreams and their interpretations? The list of pharaohs and their sons? The medical texts? Spells? Hymns? Letters? Poetry? Love songs? Household hints?”
“I’m in the mood for dreams,” Naunakht said.
I went downstairs to fetch the requested scroll. Her library was impressive. Some of its documents were extremely old – Kenhirkhopeshef had copied the story of Qadesh on the back of a papyrus originally inscribed five hundred years earlier. I found what I was seeking and hurried back to the roof.
Everyone in the valley knew dreams were sent by gods to predict the future. According to Grandfather, some of my ancestors who’d borne the talisman he wore around his neck had been sent dreams by the falcon god – dreams that had always come exactly true. One ancestress, Tiaa, had seen herself confirming a man as ruler of Nekhen close to three thousand years ago, even though she’d never been to Nekhen nor even heard the name. She had in fact confirmed him. Another, Amenia, had seen herself sitting beside her husband in the delta, Ta–mehi, watching the sun set, their child in his arms. Years later they’d been the first Southerners to establish a delta estate. A third, Maetkra, had seen a barbarian wearing a dress she’d made for her – a net of beads – and entering the banquet hall of King Khufu, builder of the valley’s greatest pyramid, to the acclaim of his court. That barbarian had become Khufu’s third wife. So, I’d always taken dreams seriously.
I’d read this particular scroll to Naunakht many times. “As we know,” I began, “if a dream is bad the dreamer can avoid catastrophe by eating fresh bread soaked in beer as soon as he awakens, while chanting the appropriate magic spell – ‘Come to me, come to me Mother Isis. See, I perceive things that are far from my city.’”
“One my husband used often,” Naunakht said.
I took a sip of beer to wet my mouth, read.
“If a man sees himself in a dream digging, it’s good. He shall be prosperous.
If a man sees himself in a dream drinking warm beer, it’s bad. He shall have sorrow.
If a man sees himself in a dream eating crocodile meat, it’s good. He will become an official.
If a man sees himself in a dream looking in the mirror, it’s bad. He shall have a new woman.
If a man sees himself in a dream lying dead, it’s good. He’ll have a long life.”
“Read the magic spell against evil spirits that cause headaches,” Naunakht requested.
I searched. “Back, Shehakek, you who come from the heavens and the earth. Nedrachse is the name of your mother, Dshubest the name of your father. If he attacks me I will call on all the gods to help me.”
“I wonder, Neset. Do you recall any spells to force children to take care of their parents?”
“I don’t.”
“A pity.” Naunakht sighed. “Only five of my eight children have looked out for me since Khaemnum died. I’ve decided to leave my goods only to them.”
“Let me guess – your sons Maaynakhtef and Amennakht, and your daughters Wosnakhte and Manenakhte. And Kenhirkhopeshef, of course.”
Naunakht laughed. “He’s gone out of his way, over and over, so I’m leaving him a bronze bowl on top of everything else. But my son Neferhotep and daughters Henshene and Khanub won’t get anything.” She shook her head. “At least not from me. All eight will inherit a share of their father’s belongings, of course.”
I read to Naunakht for another hour, as the sun crawled across the sky and bees buzzed from the flowers in her garden to beehive and back, over and over. The cat fell asleep atop the wall.
“Would you sing for me, Neset?” Naunakht asked as I set aside the last sheet of papyrus.
I wasn’t in the mood. But Naunakht had taken me in last night when no one else would, and she was a good friend, and she’d been like a second mother to me since my mother’s death. In fact, she’d taught me most of the songs I knew.
“One unique is the sister, without her equal, more beautiful than all women.
Behold her like the constellation, having appeared in glory at the beginning of a good year.
Shining of excellence, luminous of hue;
Beautiful of eyes when glancing, sweet her lips when speaking – for her no word is excessive.
Long of neck, luminous of chest; true lapis is her hair,
Her arms putting on gold, her fingers like lotuses.”
“Another.”
“The aroma that Ptah exudes.
Just as Geb has caused his perfection to endure in every body,
So has Ptah made this with his two hands to be the joy of his heart.
The water channels are filled with water anew, and the land is inundated with his love.”
“Don’t stop.”
“When I see you my eyes shine and I press close to look at you,
Most beloved of men who rules my heart.
Oh, the happiness of this hour, may it go on forever!
Since I have slept with you, you have raised up my heart.
Never leave me!”
“Now my favorite.”
“I see my sister coming.
My heart exults and my arms open to embrace her.
My heart pounds in its place just as the red fish leaps in its pond.
Oh night, be mine forever, now that my lover has come.”
“One more.”
“The sky and the stars make their music for you
While the sun and the moon praise you.
The gods exalt you
And the goddesses sing their song to you.”
“Thank you, Neset. Your voice is so lovely. You should have been a chantress in one of the temples.”
“You’re too kind.”
“I believe I’ll go downstairs and take a nap now. Would you do me a favor later?”
“Of course. Anything.”
“Will you carry the evening meal to my sons at the rest house? I hate sending it with my granddaughters. They’re young and fearful and it’s usually dark by the time the men finish eating and they set out to return to the village.”
“You prepare food for your sons, instead of their wives?”
“All four have infants at the breast,” Naunakht replied. “I remember what that was like.” She laughed. “Seems like a century ago.”
“I’ll do it. Gladly,” I assured her.
“There’ll be food in the basket for Hay, too. I’ve sent his dinner ever since his wife died a decade ago.”
“He hasn’t been foreman for five or six years,” I noted. “What’s he doing at the rest house?”
“Mostly he swaps stories after dinner with the men who used to work for him. The village is too lonely for him. It’s not really home. After all, he spent the majority of his time at the rest house for more than four decades. During the day, while the men are working in the Great Place, he carves shabati for priests and officials to put in their tombs. As wel
l as offering stelae for villagers.”
“Mesedptah commissioned our stela from Hay,” I told her. “Reshpetref smashed it to pieces in front of me yesterday out of spite.” I laughed. “Can you believe it – by the time I returned to the village last night he’d approached Father about marrying me! Like I’d agree after the way he brutalized me.”
A few hours before sunset I ascended the narrow dusty well–worn footpath over the western hills that linked Ta Set Maat to the Great Place, burdened with a heavy reed basket containing food and several jars of beer. Dozens of women were proceeding up the track, similarly burdened. They ignored me. Our destination was the rest house, a group of huts on the heights halfway between the village and the pharaohs’ tombs. The rest house had been erected in the middle years of Ramesses the Great’s reign. Ever since, women had been carrying dinner to their husbands and sons and brothers nightly. I’d delivered Mesedptah’s for years – until Sitmut started working at my house. Then she’d taken it. I wondered if the two of them had laughed at my gullibility as they’d shared their nightly food and beer.
The huts were atop the saddle of the pass where the track from Ta Set Maat turned away from the river valley and ran down into the Great Place. Above loomed the Qurn, the peak known as the “gate of heaven,” home of the goddess Meretseger. The path divided the huts in two. The multiple huts on each side shared a common roof, giving them the appearance of beehives. A small temple honoring the first King Amenhotep was on one side of the path, and an area containing small workshops the other. I spotted many types of grave goods in various stages of completion there. Hay was not the only man who worked on commissions in his spare time on the heights.
Apparently, the men of the left gang used the huts on one side of the path and the right the other. I saw the two foremen, Anhirkawi of the left and Khonsu of the right, settling down to eat with their men. Father ignored me. My brothers stared at me insolently. Reshpetref leered; he no doubt assumed I’d soon be knocking at his door, begging him to take me in. Seeing him stiffened my resolve to avoid that fate. Women began unloading baskets and laying out repasts for their men. The higher officials sat a little apart from the common workers.
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 6
