The Gardener and the Assassin

by Mark Gajewski

  “Even here, in Pharaoh’s per’aa?” I asked dubiously.

  “Even here.” He seized my hand and over my objections waded into the crowd. Now that the royals were seated everyone was milling about, seeking their tables. Yesterday’s sojourn on the streets of Pi–Ramesses repeated itself – everyone wanted a word with Pentawere. Especially women. Most seemed to know him – past conquests, I supposed. I wondered if any of them had been prepared by Kemtet and Kapes. Some eyed me with curiosity, some hostility. I felt out of place, inadequate. What did Pentawere want with me when he could have any of them? He shared a word or laugh with almost everyone. He was ebullient, outgoing. I’d never been around anyone as popular, and it wasn’t just because of his rank. People genuinely liked him. He had a presence. Eventually we reached a two–person table at the front of the room in the royal row. We seated ourselves on fine ebony chairs with backrests and seats of woven reeds next to Ramesses and Duatentopet, after I’d bowed respectfully to them.

  Duatentopet stared at me for a moment. “I remember you. The gardener.”

  “You’ve met Neset?” Pentawere asked, surprised.

  “A month ago, in the tower room,” Duatentopet replied. “You seem to be insinuating yourself into our family, Gardener,” she said harshly. “Did Father invite you tonight?”

  Jealousy. She too considered me a rival to the royal wives despite Pharaoh’s assurance to the contrary.

  “Neset’s my guest, Sister,” Pentawere replied before I could answer.

  “Pharaoh ordered me to come to Pi–Ramesses to dig up his favorite flowers from the per’aa garden and take them to Djeme, Majesty,” I explained.

  “Hmph.” Duatentopet immediately lost interest in me and turned away.

  Our table, like those of all the royals, faced those where the mass of officials and other guests were settling themselves in the hall, separated from them by an open space a dozen yards wide.

  “It would have been so much easier if you’d just said yes when I asked you to feast with me,” Pentawere said.

  “Guess I just learned I can’t reject Pharaoh’s son,” I said lightly. Though, a few hours from now, I was going to have to. I dreaded the very thought. Pentawere hadn’t given me dress and jewels intending to remain my acquaintance. This evening was going to come to an awful end for me.

  A spectacular broad collar lay against Pentawere’s chest, solid gold, inlaid with blue, green, and red faience. At each end was a lotus stalk with two flowers. Across the top a vulture spread its wings over two Horus–headed sphinxes who were trampling enemies, each flanking a cartouche with Pentawere’s name. “It’s so beautiful, Pentawere.”

  “A gift from Father, many years ago,” he said.

  His brother the cavalry commander slipped into the chair next to Pentawere. Three women were hanging all over him. He too had apparently roamed the hall after making his grand entrance.

  “My half–brother Amenherkoshef,” Pentawere said. “This is Neset.”

  “Your cavalry was magnificent today, Majesty,” I said sincerely. “I’ve never seen such fine horses or horsemen.”

  “Thank you. Frankly, I’m glad to be out of the saddle and back in civilization.” He squeezed the waist of one of the women, simultaneously seizing a cup of wine and drinking it down without stopping.

  Pentawere leaned close. “I’d replace him in an instant if I commanded the army,” he whispered. “Father needs leaders who want to fight, not sit at home basking in luxury.”

  “Lucky for your brother you’re not its commander, then.” I sipped my wine and swept the hall with my eyes. Women were scrutinizing me, some curious, some envious, most unfriendly, as if I’d taken something they wanted or had themselves expected to have. More confirmation that the rumors I’d heard in Ta Set Maat about Pentawere and women were true. “Are you certain you wish to dine with me, Pentawere?” I asked hesitantly. “It’s not too late to invite someone else to sit with you. Every woman here has her eyes on you. Surely I’m the lowest ranking. They’re all so beautiful, too. You could have your pick of them.”

  “I have picked,” he said cheerfully. “You.”

  “But why, Pentawere?”

  “Because,” he smiled, “every man in this hall has his eyes on you, wondering the name of the enchanting creature I’ve captured. Beauty and mystery – there’s not a man here who doesn’t envy me right now.”

  I hardly thought that true, but I’d already gathered I’d be wasting my time trying to change Pentawere’s mind about me.

  The roar of hundreds of conversations pervaded the hall. Serving girls wearing only white skirts circulated among the tables, bearing platters of roasted beef and talapia fish and bread and onions and olives and dates and peaches and melons and other fruit. I tasted a bit of everything, picking items from my platter with my fingers as was everyone else. While the workers in Ta Set Maat wanted for little, they didn’t eat anywhere near this well or this variety.

  Pentawere insisted I try some of every type of wine. “The best, imat, comes from Per–Wadjet, a town near the sea,” he said. “The vineyards of Pi–Ramesses are known for their grape wine. The date wine from Bahariya Oasis, DjesDjes, is also spectacular.”

  “Though your father prefers wine from Kharga Oasis,” I said. “He told me.”

  Each jar bore a clay docket with the location of the vineyard and the name of the vintner. Most being served this night was from Ta–mehi, from Pharaoh’s own vineyards, and some was honeyed. I’d never tasted wine so good. I noted that Pentawere drank copiously but didn’t seem to be affected by it. Years of practice, probably.

  Pharaoh was several tables away, to my right, talking and laughing with his new concubines. They were equally cheerful. A woman standing behind them seemed to be translating, concentrating, her brow furrowed, trying to keep up. All of Pharaoh’s wives were quite irritated by his attention to the women. The concubine I’d met in the tower room, Heket, Pharaoh’s favorite, was absent tonight. I thought that strange; she’d been seated with the royals during the parade today. I knew, because I’d watched them the entire time from my place in the crowd. Or, more accurately, I’d watched Pentawere. I’d known it was absurd, taking an interest in him. We should be enemies – he’d sentenced Mesedptah to die. But I’d found him engaging and friendly and approachable during our excursion, not at all the image I had of a pharaoh’s son. He’d treated me with great kindness, had taken an interest in everything I had to say, hadn’t once acted like he was better than me. Still, when he’d invited me to attend the banquet with him and I’d turned him down I’d thought I’d never see him again. Pi–Ramesses was crawling with beautiful women. It was far fetched to think he’d parade me, a commoner, in front of them and Pharaoh and the other royals. But here I was, being paraded.

  Instead of a crown, Pharaoh was wearing a blue and white striped nemes tonight. A massive green broad collar edged top and bottom with gold lay on his chest. His corselet was green, his sash woven with four rows of geometric figures in red, blue, green and gold. His cartouche decorated the center of his gold belt. His pleated green shendyt had vertical gold stripes. Gold sandals were on his feet and his arm and wristbands were of turquoise edged with gold, top and bottom. The youngest and most beautiful of the serving girls stood a few paces behind him, ready to immediately attend to his every need. Vizier To sat by himself a few tables away from Pharaoh, picking at his food, darting eyes aware of everything that was going on in the hall. Across the way Grandfather got my attention and nodded his head approvingly and I shrugged my shoulders slightly, still unsure how I’d come to be dining with a son of Pharaoh. I noted that Pentawere and his brother Ramesses were going out of their way to ignore each other. Amenherkoshef was cheerfully speaking with a revolving cast of women, all beautiful, all courtiers.

  Pentawere was gregarious and loved to talk. As we ate he told me story after story about all the places he’d visited between the cataract and the sea, of his early life in his father’s harem,
his training by scribes, of learning to be a soldier, of managing the installation at Pi–Ramesses. He spoke enviously of his brothers, of the chances they had to see the world beyond the valley. He’d studied every one of the third Thutmose’s campaigns, he said, and Ramesses the Great’s account of Qadesh. We talked about Thutmose’s great victories, about the lands he’d conquered. Lands Pentawere longed to retake for his father. I told him stories about Thutmose that had been handed down in my family from Pharaoh’s scribe Tjanuni, stories that brought to life the dry inscriptions recorded on Ipet–Isut’s walls. Pentawere put me completely at ease, as he had during our tour yesterday. I almost forgot the differences between us. Almost. Throughout the meal we were frequently interrupted by a never–ending stream of army commanders and priests and mayors and overseers and scribes who made their way to Pentawere’s table to converse with him. He introduced me to the commanders of all four army divisions and the charioteers. They obviously liked and respected him. I couldn’t help notice far fewer guests were speaking with his brother Ramesses, despite his higher status, and that most of those conversations were stilted and formal, almost as if they were being done out of duty. After two dozen men had chatted with Pentawere while surreptitiously sweeping their eyes over me Pentawere leaned close. “See! No one can resist seeing up close the amazing woman I’m dining with. They’re all moths drawn to a brilliant flame.”

  I blushed in spite of myself and took a sip of wine. I turned my attention to the other guests. I spotted a cat slipping under a chair occupied by a barbarian woman. In fact, there were a dozen girls and women dressed similarly to her in the same area, and a few men. The cat devoured a piece of fish that had been dropped on the floor.

  “Who are those people?” I asked Pentawere, tilting my head towards them.

  “Wretches,” he said with the slightest bit of distaste. “Sons and daughters of local rulers in Setjet and Retenu, accumulated by Father over the years as tokens of friendship between their towns and our valley. They’re hostages, really, most raised since childhood in Father’s harem in the Fayum. The third Thutmose built it because he was gifted so many women by kings and rulers in the decades he held the throne. Some of the women came with vast retinues – over three hundred attendants in one case. They wouldn’t fit in any per’aa, so Thutmose tucked them away on an estate.”

  “Thutmose educated his hostages. They became more loyal to our land than their own,” I said. “He sent each boy back to his town or kingdom as ruler when his father died, ensuring his land remained subservient to ours.”

  “But no more,” Pentawere said. “Now the hostages spend their lives here. The kingdoms and towns of their birth do as they please.” Pentawere finished his wine and motioned to a girl who approached and refilled his cup, spilling some as she did, more interested in Pentawere than pouring carefully. “Most pharaohs take daughters of our allies as wives as well.” He inclined his head towards his father. “Iset’s mother was from Naharina.”

  “Do a pharaoh’s children get sent to other lands in exchange, as hostages or wives?”

  “By the gods, no!” Pentawere exclaimed, looking at me as if I was out of my mind. “Wretches come to us. We don’t go to their pitiful lands. Ours is the most powerful empire in all the world. Or, at least, it was.” He leaned close and pointed. “See that girl, the one on the left with the turquoise necklace?”

  I nodded. She looked barely twelve years old, her hips nearly as narrow as my waist, skin light, eyes blue, hair gold.

  “She’s a Shasu, a barbarian from the Sinai. She’s the newest hostage, arrived just this week. She’ll be given to one of my half–brothers or nephews when she turns fourteen.”

  “She’s been watching you all evening,” I noted. “She’d marry you in an instant, I think.”

  “Father doesn’t care what she wants, or what I might or might not want for that matter,” Pentawere said. “What’s certain is, he and Vizier To will try to arrange a marriage for me someday.”

  “Try? You’ll resist?”

  “Of course I will, Neset. It’ll make Father angry, of course.” He sipped his wine. “Nearly all my older brothers were married by age fifteen to women he selected. Mother thinks Father’s holding me in reserve so he can forge an alliance with some powerful king some day. He doesn’t have many sons left to use.” He swallowed the last of his wine. “But there are no powerful kings anymore, not after the Sea Peoples’ rampage through the world. So I intend to take a wife of my choosing.”

  “From what I’ve heard about you and women, Pentawere, you’ll find it hard to choose.” Drinking so much wine had loosened my tongue. I cringed, realizing what I’d said.

  Pentawere laughed. “The choice should be hard, shouldn’t it, Neset?”

  “Yes.”

  “And so I sample many, to choose wisely.”

  “Will you take more than one wife?” I asked.

  “Father has. It’s a royal prerogative. Why, Ramesses’ son is only sixteen and he’s got two already.”

  “I shared my husband with other women, though I didn’t know it,” I said ruefully.

  “I remember, from the trial,” Pentawere said. “When you attacked him – that’s what I recall most about you that day – your fierce spirit. I admired you for it.”

  “I’d never do it again. Share my husband with another woman, I mean.”

  “Even if he was a pharaoh?”

  “Don’t mock me, Pentawere. A woman like me doesn’t marry a pharaoh.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just look around!” I said. “I shouldn’t even be among people like this, not even for one night.”

  “Most of these people hold their position due to an accident of birth,” Pentawere scoffed. “They’re not that different from you, Neset – I take that back. I dare say few would have risen above their circumstances as well as you have.”

  “That’s very kind of you to say, Pentawere.”

  “I’ll ask my question again – if you married a pharaoh would you share him with other wives?”

  “Not even then,” I said adamantly. “Especially not if he already had a wife. I wouldn’t do to another woman what my husband did to me.” I sipped my own wine. “But you haven’t answered my question, Pentawere. Will you take multiple wives?”

  “I intend to take only the one I choose.”

  “Your wife will adore you for that.”

  Pentawere finished another cup and gazed deep into my eyes. I felt like he was searching my ka. “So forceful… so independent… so sure of yourself… You fascinate me, Neset. Tell me everything there is to know.”

  “I’d bore you, Pentawere,” I said, trying to divert attention from myself. “My life’s nothing compared to yours.”

  “Nonsense. A young widow rises to be overseer of Pharaoh’s garden? Something in your background gave you the strength to overcome tremendous obstacles. There’s a story there.”

  “As you wish, Pentawere.” I sipped the last of my own wine, licked my lips to moisten them. “I was raised in Ta Set Maat. My ancestor Nebit was one of the first craftsmen to settle there, hundreds of years ago. He helped decorate the tomb of Osiris–pharaoh Amenhotep, who established the village. Stories have been passed down in my family from those days, and before.”

  “Like the one you told me about Seqenenre Tao, and those about the third Thutmose,” Pentawere said.

  I nodded. “The ancestors I told you about were soldiers, a rarity in my family. Most have been craftsmen. Some helped build the pyramids of kings Netjeryket and Sneferu and Khufu. One was a sculptor in the heretic pharaoh’s court. Several made stone vases in the court of King Qa’a. One was a royal dressmaker, many were potters, several were boat builders. Nebit was the last of the soldiers, besides Grandfather. If you don’t count Tjanuni, a military scribe. Along with Amenhotep’s tomb, Nebit worked on chapels in Ipet–Isut and the restoration of the memorial temple of the second Mentuhotep on the west bank at Waset. He helped construct a chapel to w
orship Amenhotep and his mother Ahmes–Nefertari at Ta Set Maat.”

  “What was your ancestors’ skill?”

  “They carved stone, as my father still does. My ancestors excavated the house of eternity of every Osiris–pharaoh buried in the Great Place. One, Ika, was forced to relocate from Ta Set Maat to Akhetaten by the heretic to build his city and temples and tombs. He became a royal sculptor there. He returned to Waset when the Osiris–pharaohs Tutankhamen and Ay and Horemheb reestablished Ta Set Maat. My family has lived in the same house in the village since that time. Ika’s name is inscribed on its limestone lintel to this day.”

  “Are both your parents alive?”

  “Only my father. He remarried after my mother died, many years ago. I have half– and stepbrothers and half– and stepsisters. They’ve all avoided me since… you know. My public shame and humiliation were too embarrassing for them to be seen with me afterwards.”

  “And your husband’s family?”

  I smiled wryly. “They blame me for everything that happened to Mesedptah. They claim my infertility drove him to be unfaithful.”

  “Are you? Infertile?” Pentawere asked.

  “I had a daughter, Ipu. She lived an hour. And two more daughters stillborn.”

  “I’m so sorry, Neset,” Pentawere said.

  “My husband’s family blamed his death on me. When I returned to my house after the Great Kenbet the village authorities had already given my house away. I wasn’t even allowed to salvage my belongings. I stayed with a neighbor for a night, then spent a day working at the Great Place. After that I went to live with Grandfather. I’ll never forget the hostile stares of my neighbors as I walked down the main street of Ta Set Maat, the hatred blazing in their eyes… I haven’t returned to the village since. I don’t intend to ever again.”

  “Lucky for me,” Pentawere said.

  “Me too. Otherwise I wouldn’t have encountered Pharaoh and been given such a wonderful job.”

  “Do your father and brothers still carve stone?” he asked.