“What do you expect me to do about it?” Hednakht asked.
“Send to Pharaoh, our good lord – life, prosperity, health. Let him know of our trouble. Send to Vizier To, our superior, that we may be supplied with provisions.” Patwere drew himself up. “Our rations are now twenty–one days late, My Lord. Twenty! One! Days!”
“The inundation was favorable! The granaries are full!” Father called.
“The supplies given us from the treasury and granary and storehouses are exhausted!” I recognized the voice of my husband’s brother, Pagerger. He was furious. “The stone of Ta Set Neferu is not light. One and a half hundredweight of grain is in arrears. Feed us! Make for us a means of keeping alive! We’re dying! We don’t live at all!”
“Corrupt officials are responsible for this delay!” cried another.
“Tell the vizier!” shouted a third.
Others took up the chant. “Tell the vizier! Tell the vizier!”
Hednakht stared at the workers, appalled. He shouted over them. “You make such charges? Against Pharaoh’s officials! With no proof? Do you know the penalty for false accusation?”
“We do, My Lord,” said Patwere, crossing his arms.
The chants died down.
“We speak the truth.”
“Return to your homes!” Hednakht ordered. “Return to your work in Ta Set Neferu!” He slowly scanned the gathered men. “If you do not the consequences will fall on your heads!” Without waiting for their reply he stormed out of the temple.
“What now?” Father asked Patwere plaintively.
The workers were clearly frightened, looking at each other uncertainly. No one knew what to do. Clearly, Pharaoh’s officials weren’t going to give in to their demands. Was it time to accept defeat? Should they obey Hednakht and slink back to work, or continue their strike? Pagerger, one of the most strident, was hanging his head. Resolve was wavering.
“I’ll tell you my opinion!” Mentmose cried, incensed, addressing them all. “Return to Ta Set Maat. Gather your work tools. Fetch your wives and children. Close and seal your doors. Go to the temple of the first Seti and settle there until you get what you’re owed. I’ll lead you myself!”
Seti’s was the northernmost of the temples of millions of years, half a mile beyond the Ramesseum and directly across the river from the sacred complex of Ipet–Isut.
“The First God’s Servant and Waset’s officials won’t be able to ignore us then!” Mentmose shouted. “They’ll have to take action!”
An action with consequences Mentmose wasn’t considering. I sensed the villagers were headed for disaster. For a moment I took comfort in that. They disgusted me. They were so full of themselves, so self–righteous, too blind to see that Pharaoh could easily dismiss them all and repopulate Ta Set Maat with new skilled craftsmen. How many did he need? Fifty or sixty? Starting over would certainly mean the fourth Ramesses’ tomb would take longer to construct when he became sole pharaoh, but Ta Set Maat had been populated twice already, once by Amenhotep and a second time by Tutankhamen and Ay and Horemheb. Pharaoh Ramesses could do it too. After all, the fourth Ramesses’ tomb might not need to be excavated for decades if the third lived as long as the second had. These villagers had taken the part of my thieving husband and kept me in the dark about his unfaithfulness and stolen my home and everything I owned and driven me from Ta Set Maat. They deserved to suffer.
But their children didn’t. I recalled the face of every single one who’d ever listened to my stories in the garden on my roof. I recalled helping bring most of them into the world. They’d brightened my life for years. Stubborn and misguided these men standing before me might be, but their children didn’t deserve to lose their homes because of this strike. Someone had to save these workers from themselves. A vindictive person wouldn’t have given them a second thought. But I wasn’t a vindictive person.
I stepped in front of Mentmose, blocked him from charging off. “There may be another way.”
He paused.
I addressed the man beside him. “Scribe Patwere, I’m slightly acquainted with Pharaoh’s son, Pentawere. I dined at his table during a banquet at Pi–Ramesses held to honor the fourth Ramesses after he returned from his Northern campaign.”
Patwere stared at me, astonished.
“Is this true?” Father asked in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“You? And Pharaoh’s son?”
The workers around me snickered and laughed.
“I’ll go to Djeme. I’ll seek an audience with His Majesty and explain the situation. Maybe he’ll take pity on you.”
Patwere pondered for a moment, looked at Mentmose. “I suppose it’s worth a try, Neset.”
“You can’t be serious, Scribe!” Pagerger shouted incredulously. He moved beside me. “You want to place our lives in the hands of this treacherous woman? She’ll argue against us! If Pharaoh’s son will speak with her at all. Which I doubt. Do you really believe she knows a royal? She’s lied before!”
Surprisingly, Father came to my defense. He shoved Pagerger aside and moved between him and me protectively. “If Neset betrays us it’s because your lecherous conniving brother ruined her life, Pagerger!” He glanced at his comrades. “And because the rest of us drove her from Ta Set Maat!”
Pagerger swung his fist and struck Father a glancing blow on the side of his head. Father jabbed him in the mouth. Men pulled them apart, restrained them. Pagerger was bleeding. Both men struggled to free themselves, kicking up dust, cursing each other. Less than a quarter of the villagers arranged themselves behind Father. Like Pagerger, the vast majority didn’t trust or believe me.
I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. Volunteering to help had been impetuous and foolish. Pentawere had probably forgotten about me. He probably wouldn’t even grant me an audience. I’d never live down the embarrassment in Ta Set Maat. I’d be mocked for claiming I’d dined with him. Failure would reinforce the villagers low opinion of me. And even if he did consent to talk, what right did I have to ask him for a favor? And if he let me ask, why would he grant it? We’d shared a walk around Pi–Ramesses and a meal at a banquet. That’s all. Afterwards, I’d rejected his advances, even though he’d gifted me a beautiful dress and expensive jewels. He’d expected something in return for his generosity and I’d turned him down cold, something no other woman ever had. I had no special hold on him. Just the opposite. I was doomed to fail Father and the rest. But at least I would have tried to make a bad situation from becoming even worse. I’d have that to cling to.
Patwere looked at Mentmose with the air of a desperate man grasping at straws. He shrugged his shoulders. “We have no better option.”
“Go ahead, Neset,” Mentmose said.
“Don’t return after you fail,” Pagerger said scornfully. “Not here to us, and not to Ta Set Maat.”
I turned and headed towards Djeme.
***
That entire long walk I struggled with what I was going to say to Pentawere. And with the real reason I’d volunteered. To help the villagers, as I’d said, or as an excuse to see Pentawere again? I admitted I wanted to see him, badly. It would be harder for him to refuse to see me if I was seeking an audience to discuss an actual situation than if I was simply calling on him. Maybe I’d taken on this task simply to shield my heart from what I expected would be rejection. Suddenly, I didn’t know my own mind. I was filled with a mixture of dread and anticipation and uncertainty and hope.
I reached Djeme and went immediately to the per’aa. I grabbed a bunch of loose flowers from a very large earthenware pot just inside the door. Guards and servants were used to seeing me deliver and arrange flowers throughout the per’aa; an armful reduced the odds anyone would challenge me.
I reached the open space before the closed door of the audience hall. I was shocked to see villagers gathered there – the scribe Amennakht, the gang foreman Khonsu, Amennakht’s oldest son, Harshire, two workmen, Khons and Wadjmose. They were standing together, in
a group. Opposite them, alone, was another worker, Pa’aunket. He was one of Paneb’s grandsons, like my dead husband.
Amennakht spotted me, glared. “What are you doing here?”
I indicated my flowers. “What does it look like?” I swept my eyes over the others. Pa’aunket looked very confident, everyone else grim. They were all sweating. Something was going on. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“We have business with Pharaoh’s son. Be gone!” Khonsu snapped.
“I have business too.” These men were an unexpected complication for my mission.
“What possible business could you have?” Amennakht asked.
“The workers sent me to settle their strike.”
“I told them to go back to work days ago!” Amennakht said.
“Yes, you did. You and every other official on both riverbanks. They didn’t. They won’t accept your orders anymore, either.”
Amennakht snorted. “Why would they send you?”
“I met His Majesty once. I volunteered to help.”
“So… the rumors from Pi–Ramesses are true,” Khonsu said knowingly. “Only you two did far more than meet, the way I heard it.” He jabbed Amennakht in the ribs with his elbow. “Can’t blame Pharaoh’s son for sleeping with her. Everyone knows how he is. She’s more than tolerable to look at.”
“We didn’t!” I exclaimed.
The door opened. Hednakht addressed Amennakht. “His Majesty has agreed to see you. Come inside.”
The men entered the room. I didn’t wait to be invited. I pressed in behind them, fuming at Khonsu. How had he found out about me attending the banquet in Pi–Ramesses? Who’d lied about me and Pentawere?
“Where do you think you’re going?” Hednakht snarled at me. “Deliver your flowers later.”
“I need to speak with His Majesty.”
“About what?”
“The demands of Ta Set Maat’s workers.”
Hednakht’s face flamed red. “I ordered them to go home!” he thundered. “And now I’m ordering you!”
“Not until I speak with His Majesty,” I insisted.
Amennakht and Khonsu watched gleefully.
“I’ll throw you out myself, then!” Hednakht seized my arm. My flowers spilled all over the floor. He started dragging me towards the door. I resisted as best I could. He was much larger and heavier than me. I knew I’d have bruises on my arm in the morning.
“Let her go!”
Hednakht released me immediately at the sound of that familiar voice.
I turned, bowed deeply, looked up.
Pentawere was seating himself on Pharaoh’s throne atop the dais at the far end of the hall, a staff of office in his hand, richly dressed and bejeweled. His eyes met mine. He said nothing but I could tell he was glad to see me. So, I hadn’t alienated him as badly as I’d thought. Or maybe he was simply curious about why I’d come.
“Why am I here?” Pentawere asked Hednakht.
“Majesty, a worker in Ta Set Maat has made a serious charge against three of his fellows. The village elders have brought them here so you can judge the case.”
Pentawere crooked his finger.
Hednakht shepherded us to within a dozen feet of the dais.
“Which of you are the elders?”
“I’m Amennakht, the chief scribe, Majesty.”
“I’m Khonsu, foreman of the right gang.”
Pentawere leaned back in his chair. “Don’t you have a village kenbet to resolve disputes?”
“We do, Majesty,” Amennakht replied. “But one of the accused is my oldest son. It’s better that you hear the evidence and decide.”
Pentawere idly twirled his staff between his fingers.
I wondered what was so awful that these men needed Pentawere to render justice.
“Who makes the charge?” Pentawere asked.
“I do, Majesty. My name is Pa’aunket. I’m a stonecutter in the left gang.”
“What’s your charge?”
“Majesty, Harshire and Wadjmose have stripped stones from the royal tomb of Ramesses the Great – life, prosperity, health, justified – in the Great Place.”
The exact crime Amennakht’s grandfather had accused Paneb of decades ago. Now Paneb’s descendant was accusing Amennakht’s son. The bad blood between the families was rearing its head once again.
“Khons took a branded ox from a stall in the Ramesseum. Equally bad, he seduced three women in Ta Set Maat, one of them Harshire’s wife.”
Harshire stepped towards Pa’aunket, fists clenched.
“Let me see what you’ll do to these men, Majesty, or I’ll complain directly to Pharaoh and the vizier,” Pa’aunket told Pentawere stridently.
“You threaten Pharaoh’s son?” Hednakht interjected, incredulous. He’d moved beside Pentawere, onto the lowest step of the dais.
“You’re a liar!” Khons screamed, rushing at Pa’aunket, swinging at him.
Pa’aunket ducked.
Khonsu and Harshire restrained Khons.
It was Father and Pagerger all over again.
“Silence!” Pentawere cried, rising from the throne.
Everyone froze in place.
“Is this how you act in Pharaoh’s per’aa?” Pentawere asked. “Is this how you seek justice?”
“I’m sorry, Majesty,” Amennakht said. “Now you see why the village kenbet cannot judge this case.”
Pentawere resumed his seat. He let his gaze linger on each man in turn. “Charges and denials,” he finally said. “Pa’aunket, you expect me to believe that these three men conspired to steal from Ramesses the Great while one was sleeping with another’s wife?”
“I do, Majesty.”
“Do you love your wife, Harshire?”
“I do, Majesty,” he said firmly. “I’ve planted many children in her belly. I’ve provided well for her. I’ve given her no reason to sleep with another man.”
“Liar!” cried Pa’aunket.
“Silence!” Hednakht cried. “Or we’ll judge the lot of you guilty!”
Pentawere suppressed a smile. Then he looked at me. “You’ve heard the accusations and defense, My Lady. What’s your opinion? How would you decide the case?”
The villagers looked shocked he’d addressed me as if I was someone important. Perhaps I still was, to him. They’d also just realized that for all practical purposes Pentawere had granted me the power of life and death over them. What better way for him to avoid a decision than by passing it to me. A woman all of them had treated like dirt. Sweat began flowing down the sides of Amennakht’s face. He’d taken my home from me. He’d gleefully destroyed all my belongings. With a word right now I could take his son from him. In my place he’d be spiteful enough to do it. He had to be assuming I would.
“Majesty, there’s been bad blood between Amennakht’s family and Pa’aunket’s family for decades,” I said. “Pa’aunket’s ancestor, Paneb, was a very bad man who got away with many things for many years because everyone feared him. Apparently he once beat nine men in a single night when he was in one of his rages. Like his descendant, Pa’aunket, he was fond of going straight to the vizier or pharaoh to get his way, bypassing the village kenbet.”
“I see. The village officials went along with Paneb?”
“Only after he accused them of crimes to divert attention from himself. In fact, Majesty, your grandfather, Pharaoh Setnakht, removed a vizier from office solely because of Paneb’s accusations. Paneb also bribed a different vizier with a gift of five servants so he’d appoint him foreman. Anyway, Majesty, the grandfather of the scribe standing before you, Amennakht, once accused Paneb of sixteen separate crimes – including stealing from the tomb of the second Seti and the tomb of Henutmire, daughter of Ramesses the Great and wife of the second Seti. Amennakht’s grandfather also accused Paneb of raping three women.” I shook my head. “Village men always seem to do things to women in threes.”
Pentawere stifled a laugh. “Is it true, what My Lady says, Amennakht?�
��
“It is,” he said, his chin tilted. “Pharaoh executed Paneb and his son Aaphate for their crimes.”
“As you can see, Majesty, bad blood between the families,” I said. “Still lingering.”
“How do you fit into this, My Lady?” Pentawere asked. “Are you related to either side?”
“Both, at least distantly. Everyone in the village is tied to everyone in some way. But most directly to Pa’aunket. He’s my dead husband’s cousin.”
“How do you know all this, My Lady?” Pentawere asked.
“Hay, a former gang foreman, the oldest man in Ta Set Maat, told me about Paneb and his antics the day after my husband was executed. He told me my husband had been exactly like his ancestor. Anyway, Majesty, these men are trying to draw you into their village feud, just as they’ve drawn in other officials these past decades.”
“Unlike those officials, though, thanks to you, I understand the history and context.”
“Yes, Majesty. But be assured, no matter how you rule, this feud will continue forever.”
“I see. How do you judge these men, then, My Lady?”
I gazed steadily at them. All lowered their eyes. Pentawere had just put every one of them at my mercy. He’d formally asked me to decide their fates. They knew it and I knew it. If I’d been a spiteful woman I could have taken advantage of this opportunity to pay them back for the suffering I’d endured at their hands. But I wasn’t spiteful. I wouldn’t stoop to their level. “The only crime I see is perjury, Majesty.”
“No!” Pa’aunket cried.
The rest let out audible sighs of relief. Amennakht put his arm around his son’s shoulders.
“I agree. Pa’aunket, the penalty for perjury is clear. I sentence you to break rocks in the quarry in Wadi Hammamat for the rest of your natural life. Hednakht, see to it that my sentence is carried out.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“The rest of you may go,” Pentawere said dismissively. “Except for you, Neset.”
Amennakht and the rest looked at me again, amazed. Suddenly Pentawere and I were on a first–name basis? And he wanted to talk with me alone?
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 24
