“I’ve seen the limestone stela at Ipet–Isut where Kamose recorded his deeds. I’ve even memorized it.”
“Really?”
“I’ve memorized the third Thutmose’s records of his campaign, too,” I said. “He inspires me, Neset. I’ve dreamed my whole life of commanding Father’s army and rebuilding Thutmose’s empire.”
“Prove it,” Neset challenged, her eyes flashing. “I have to warn you – I know Kamose’s inscription too, Majesty.”
“You can read, Neset?”
“Almost everyone brought up in Ta Set Maat can.”
That was news to me. And even more unusual – not just that a woman would care about records of campaigns, but that she wouldn’t take my word I knew. No woman had ever doubted me to my face. “Very well. ‘O wicked of heart, vile Wretch, I drank the wine of your vineyard which the wretches I captured pressed for me. I lay waste your dwelling place and cut down your trees… I laid waste your towns and burned your places, they being made into red ruins for eternity on account of the damage which you did within this land.’”
“Very nice, Majesty,” Neset said, smiling.
“Now that I’ve proven myself, My Lady, go on with your tale,” I said grandly.
“King Kamose died of disease three years after taking the throne. His much younger brother, Ahmose, succeeded him. Ahmose set out to drive the Chiefs of Foreign Lands from the delta too, but not until he’d been king for ten years.”
“Why did he wait so long?”
“He was a child when he was crowned, Majesty. His mother, Ahhotep, served as his regent. She held Apophis at bay on his behalf – she even led a few campaigns against the wretches. Pimay and his son Waty fought at her side. Anyway, Ahmose himself waged five campaigns against the Chiefs of Foreign Lands. At first he suffered setbacks, but he eventually conquered Mennefer and Avaris in turn, fighting on land and water. Pimay was killed during the second campaign, not long after he’d been awarded flies of valor for presenting King Ahmose with the right hands of three wretches he’d slain. During the next three campaigns Waty avenged his father. He presented the king with a dozen right hands in all. King Kamose’s army looted Avaris when it finally fell; Waty captured a barbarian official and his three daughters he found hiding in a house. King Kamose gave them to Waty as slaves. He married one of the girls a year or so later.” Neset gazed at the hillocks where Avaris had once stood. “My ancestress. She grew up right over there.”
“I wonder where your ferocity comes from, Neset – the soldiers, or the barbarian slave?”
“Probably a little from both,” she mused. “Even though Avaris had fallen, Majesty, the war wasn’t over. The Chiefs of Foreign Lands fled to Sharuhen in Setjet. King Ahmose besieged them for six years, then fought another great battle that finally ended the peril in the North. Waty was awarded flies of valor in that battle too. Then Ahmose turned his attention to the South and conquered Kush as far as the second cataract. As he returned to Waset in triumph, however, the King of Kush, Aata, fell on him. Ahmose defeated him and carried him off to Waset as his prisoner.
“Then malcontents under a leader named Tetian attacked Ahmose. Tetian had been a supporter of the Chiefs of Foreign Lands. Ahmose slew him. After that he was never challenged again. He secured the lands he’d captured in Kush, building a number of fortresses. He also established the position of viceroy – the king’s son of Kush – to keep a tight administrative rein over the Far South. His victory complete, Ahmose donned Sekhmet, the Double Crown, for the first time in centuries, having reunited the valley.”
“I suppose there must be documents from those times in the royal archives. But I’ve never read them. And they probably wouldn’t have the detail of your stories – or interest. Unfortunately for me, few tales about my ancestors have been passed down in my family. My grandfather, Setnakhte, wasn’t related to the pharaoh he succeeded. I know nothing about his father.”
“That’s a shame, Majesty. Seems to me we’re all a part of everyone in our families who’ve come before us. They continue to live through us.”
So far, Neset was not at all what I’d expected when I invited her to join me. Most women, especially one so low–ranking, would have been flattering me relentlessly or flirting shamelessly or pressing close and grasping my arm to impress passersby, basking in an association with me. Some would have been bold, some feigning shyness, some whispering seductively about intimacies to come. But no woman before today had ever spoken to me so knowledgeably about the valley’s past or walked beside me with less pretense or conversed with me so easily. I smiled. “You’ve impressed me, Neset. I’ve never met anyone, man or woman, who knows so much about the ancient kings and their wars. I’d like to hear more of your stories sometime.”
“Of course, Majesty.”
Any other woman would have taken my request as an opening to press me on exactly when we’d see each other next, draw a commitment from me. Again, Neset was not behaving as I’d expected. She wasn’t at all possessive. She didn’t seem awed either, or scared of me. Since she was different I decided to treat her differently, dispense with formality. “When we’re alone together like this, Neset, call me Pentawere, not Majesty.”
She seemed truly surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Must I order you?”
Neset blushed slightly. “No. Pentawere.” Such a lilting voice.
“Anyway, now it’s my turn to show you Pi–Ramesses, Neset. The city is divided into four quarters. The harbor where you tied up is roughly in their center.”
We set out to unhurriedly circle the outside of the island. The streets were crowded, not only with permanent residents but those who’d poured in to witness my brother’s triumphant return. Along with hundreds of soldiers from Father’s army, visiting the city from their campsite on the east bank of the river to see the sights. As we progressed through the city women regarded Neset with curiosity, men with interest. And envy, at my good fortune to be with a woman so unique. Hundreds we passed recognized me. I greeted those I knew by name and spoke pleasantly to those I didn’t.
“You seem to know everyone in Pi–Ramesses,” Neset observed after awhile. “Frankly, Maj… Pentawere, I’ve always had an image of royals as being cold and unapproachable. Except for your father. And now you.”
“Father’s approachable?”
“We’ve talked almost every morning the past month and a half while I was watering flowers on the tower stairs,” she said. “Sometimes in the audience hall, too, when I was arranging flowers.”
That was interesting. Though not surprising. It was understandable Father would be drawn to Neset. But if he spoke to her regularly and hadn’t made her a concubine yet… that was even more interesting. “I determined years ago to win the people’s hearts by treating them with kindness and respect,” I said “My reticent older brothers would never do that.”
We stopped first outside Amen’s temple, in the west section of the city.
“Would you like to visit the most sacred parts of the temple?” I asked, trying to impress her. “Only priests and royals ever get to go there.”
Neset laughed lightly. “I’ve never seen a god’s statue in its sanctuary. But I’ve been in every other part of a temple.”
“Really?”
“I arrange flowers in all the temples inside Ipet–Isut, and in Ipet–Resyt and the memorial temples, before festivals, for Grandfather. But I’d enjoy touring Amen’s with you.”
So much for impressing Neset. After Amen’s, we visited in turn Pi–Ramesses’ other major temples – Seth’s and Astarte’s and Wadjet’s. All featured pylons, courtyards, copper–clad doors, massive statues, whitewashed walls painted with colorful images, and gold–tipped flagpoles flying red banners. All were surrounded by the houses of priests and support staff. Every temple district was practically crawling with priests. I’d looked at them with different eyes ever since my discussion with Hednakht. I saw them as parasites now, sucking the valley dry at Father’s expen
se. Parasites that needed to be crushed.
“Why do so many statues and blocks of stone bear the cartouches of ancient kings and pharaohs?” Neset asked as we paused in the shade beside a small statue. “I’ve seen Khufu’s name, and Khafre’s, and Pepi’s and Teti’s and a dozen more.”
“Two reasons, I think. Obviously, there’s no stone in the delta. When Ramesses decided to create this city it was easier for him to reuse stone quarried by his predecessors for their monuments and transport it here than quarry it himself. Also, having objects associated with ancient rulers scattered about makes this city seem more connected to the valley’s past, gives it a sense of history it would otherwise lack.”
“That makes sense.”
“Ramesses might have been copying the Chiefs of Foreign Lands, Neset. When they held the delta they moved statues from Mennefer and the Faiyum and reinscribed them with the names of their rulers.”
We paused in front of a hall with soaring columns, all of them carved and painted with images of Ramesses the Great and various gods, their capitals shaped like lotus blossoms and papyrus plants.
“What’s this?” Neset asked.
“Ramesses erected it for one of his many Heb–Sed festivals. He ruled for sixty–seven years. He held his first in year thirty and one every three years after that.”
Neset perched on the front step and I joined her. “This city’s overwhelming, Pentawere. It’s huge! Everywhere I look, monumental statues of Ramesses in his divine aspects, towering obelisks, sphinxes – it’s almost as impressive as Ipet–Isut. Waset’s puny by comparison.”
“Let a pharaoh who loves to advertise his greatness and has unlimited resources rule for more than six decades and this city’s the result,” I said. “Many of the statues were relocated from other parts of the valley and recarved in his image. Shameless of him, don’t you think?”
“I do.” She indicated an approaching group. “There are so many wretches in this city. They dress so strangely.”
“Everything and everyone that enters or leaves the valley passes through Pi–Ramesses’ harbor,” I said. “You’ll encounter traders and boat captains and sailors from Mycenae and Keftiuh and Alashiya and Setjet and Retenu. As well as refugees from the Hittite empire, driven from their homes by the Sea Peoples. You could say Pi–Ramesses is a microcosm of the entire world.”
“Majesty?”
I turned. A priest of my acquaintance, in his late thirties, was hurriedly approaching from inside the hall, finely dressed. A woman, very pretty, probably half his age, was with him. “Debhen. And…”
“My new wife, Takhuit, Majesty,” Debhen said. “She serves as chantress in this temple.”
“Pleased to meet you, Takhuit.”
She bowed deeply, timidly.
“What brings you to Ramesses’ hall, Majesty?”
“I’m giving Neset a tour of the city. She’s one of Father’s overseers. She’s spent her whole life at Waset.”
Debhen eyed her appreciatively.
Takhuit noticed. Her brow furrowed.
“May I show you both around, Majesty?” Debhen asked.
“Please.”
We followed him and Takhuit inside.
After inspecting Ramesses’ hall, Neset and I strolled to a section of the city from which numerous columns of smoke spiraled into the sky.
“This is the workshop district,” I announced.
Several streets were lined with mud–brick huts or open yards shaded by palm branches laid atop wooden frames. Fires burned in some. All contained piles of materials waiting to be processed – hides, reeds, clay, copper ingots, precious stones, bone. Many had stacks of wood or huge jars filled with water. Craftsmen were laboring busily in every one. We stepped inside the first hut. The overseer spotted me and bowed low.
I acknowledged him. “This is the bone workshop, Neset. Butchers slaughter thousands of cattle annually to feed the populace of Pi–Ramesses and placate the gods. Porters carry bones here from the slaughterhouse. They take hides to the tanner. As you can see, these craftsmen are making jewelry and tools and weapons.”
“From the cattle that graze in Ta–mehi?” she asked.
“You know about the herds?”
“My ancestors Nykara and Amenia founded the first estate in the delta five hundred years before Narmer unified the valley.”
“Really? Where did they come from?”
“Nekhen. In the South.”
“What brought them to the delta?”
“Nykara was a boat builder and trader. He and Amenia fell in love. But Amenia’s father married her to her uncle, an older man she couldn’t stand.”
“Much like happened to you, I gather.”
“Except I wasn’t in love with someone else when I was forced to marry.”
“Have you ever, Neset? Been in love?”
She seemed taken aback that I’d asked. “Not before my marriage. Afterwards I was… dutiful. Mesedptah was twice my age and had already buried two wives when he took me to his bed. Everyone in Ta Set Maat told me how lucky I was he’d chosen me to be his wife – he was the most skilled painter and wealthy because of it. He treated me well enough at first, though perfunctorily and without affection. He started resenting me once he figured out I’d never give him a son and didn’t have the grace to die in childbirth and set him free.” Her eyes hardened. “He obviously never loved me.”
How sad for her. I’d been in love dozens of times. Glorious love. Though I couldn’t remember half the women’s names or picture their faces anymore. “Go on with your story.”
“Many years later Nykara took a bride, Bakist, a daughter of his trading partner here in the delta. He’d known her since she was a girl. He took her to Nekhen. About a year later, for various and complicated and unjust reasons, Nekhen’s ruler vindictively sentenced Amenia to death along with her entire family. Nykara helped them escape from the hut where they were being held and put them on one of his boats and sailed for the North. Along the way Bakist died after giving birth to their daughter. Nykara established an estate in the delta, the first foothold of the South’s culture and way of life in the North.”
“I suppose Nykara and Amenia eventually married.”
“They did. And lived long and happy lives, with many children of their own.”
“I’m intrigued by your stories, Neset.” And by the storyteller.
“I have plenty more, Pentawere.”
We stepped outside the bone workshop. “The rest of the buildings on this street are high–temperature workshops. Let’s go in this one – the glass works.”
The back of the building had no wall and opened onto a large yard shaded by a wide sunscreen. Several furnaces burned brightly at its far end. Great stacks of wood occupied a corner. One man was feeding short logs into a furnace. Two were operating leather bellows with their feet to make the fire burn hotter.
“Ruby red glass!” Neset exclaimed, peering over the shoulder of the closest craftsman. “It’s gorgeous.”
“And quite rare,” the overseer said, coming to greet us. “Welcome to my establishment, Majesty.”
“How is glass made?” Neset asked.
He took us on a tour of his works. “In this corner boys are crushing quartz pebbles and mixing the powder with ash from burnt plants.”
The two looked about eight and nine years old or so. Probably the overseer’s sons. They were grinding the pebbles with hand–sized rocks, then passing the resulting mixture to a craftsman hunkered beside them. He was currently arranging small clay jars he’d filled with powder atop red–hot coals.
“The heat’s low, Majesty,” he explained. “Just hot enough to melt the quartz powder into a glassy blob.”
He grasped a jar with a strip of leather and turned it so we could see inside. He tilted his head towards the next craftsman, who was busily grinding one of the many blobs piled in front of him. “Once the blob cools he reduces it to powder, then cleans it and passes it to a master. The master mixes in
agents to color the powder red or blue or whatever. It takes many years of practice to do it correctly.”
The overseer shepherded us to the open yard behind the hut. Two furnaces were filled with ceramic containers, the heat so high Neset and I were forced to keep our distance. The men laboring beside them were all drenched with sweat, pausing often to drink from large water jars.
“These craftsmen pour the refined powder through clay funnels into the containers in the furnaces. The extremely high heat melts the powder into glass.”
On the opposite side of the yard two men were breaking apart ceramic containers they’d removed from the furnaces that had subsequently cooled, tapping very carefully with hammers so they wouldn’t break the glass inside. The overseer picked up a large thick disk of red glass and handed it to Neset. “We ship these disks to Pharaoh’s workshops throughout the valley. Craftsmen there melt them and, using various instruments, shape them into jars and containers and objects – they even mix different colors of glass together to make designs.”
We thanked the overseer, then entered the adjacent building. Like the previous workshop it too had an open yard with two kilns and stacks of wood. A fire blazed in one kiln. A man was loading a second.
“These are the faience works,” I said. “Its craftsmen make jewelry and ornaments and architectural pieces.”
Once again an overseer gave us a tour.
“These are our raw materials, Majesty,” he said, pointing to various piles. “White quartz pebbles, lime, natron, copper ingots.” He took us to a corner. “Boys grind the pebbles into powder, as well as the other ingredients. Then these men mix everything together with water to create a paste. The amount of copper determines the ultimate color of the faience.”
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 17
