They quickly left, looking back over their shoulders at me. As soon as Hednakht closed the door behind them Pentawere bounded from the dais to me. He was smiling, his arms outstretched. He took me in his arms.
I needn’t have worried about my reception after all. It was so much better than I’d expected and feared. I leaned back in his arms, looked up at him, searched his face.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” he said. “I thought my clumsy attempt to seduce you in the garden had driven you away. I thought I’d disappointed you.”
“You could never disappoint me, Pentawere. And you weren’t clumsy. I simply had sense enough to know going to your room was a bad idea. I didn’t want anyone to see me leaving in the morning. I was afraid what others might think of you if I was discovered – a commoner. I feared what Pharaoh might do to you.”
“So… you were looking out for my reputation. There was no need, Neset – I’m not ashamed to be seen with you.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“When the messenger delivered the dress and jewels I’d given you the next morning I thought it meant I’d done something terribly wrong.”
“Frankly, Pentawere, I wasn’t sure if you’d expected something from me in return for your gifts. Since I’d turned you down…”
“That’s not why I sent them.”
“And it’s not why I accepted them. I wanted to be with you in Pi–Ramesses because of who you are, not what you are.”
“Then we both desire each other for the same reason.” He released me, took hold of my hands, raised my fingers to his lips, kissed them. “I told you at Pi–Ramesses, Neset – you captivate me. I went to your grandfather’s hut last night looking for you the moment I arrived at Djeme. He didn’t know where you were. I waited in his hut for hours. I worried about you all night.”
“You truly wanted to see me?” I was amazed.
“I’ve been miserable without you.” His eyes were frank and honest.
“I’ve thought about you too these past five months, Pentawere.” I lowered my voice. “Constantly.”
He raised my hands to his lips and kissed my fingers again. He lifted my hair with both hands and bent and lightly kissed my neck. His kiss sent a shiver down my spine. I wanted to melt into him, to meet his lips with my own. But that wasn’t why I’d come and I forced myself to push away from him. The villagers in Ta Set Maat were relying on me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just that I’ve come hoping you can settle the strike by the workers excavating your brother’s tomb.”
“You weren’t part of the last case?”
“No. Sheer happenstance that they were here.”
“I thought it was strange you’d take up Amennakht’s cause, after how he treated you.”
“Believe me. I have no love for Amennakht. Or most people in Ta Set Maat for that matter. In fact, I’ve come to try to help workers who’ve treated me just as badly. You’ve heard about the strike on the west bank?”
“Hednakht informed me a little while ago. He called the workers ‘disorganized rabble.’ He said he ordered them back to work.”
“They haven’t taken up their tools and they won’t, Pentawere. This strike has spiraled out of control for no good reason. Every official the strikers have petitioned the past three days has claimed it’s someone else’s problem to solve, not theirs. You’re the only man who can get them back to work.”
“We’ll deal with it later.” He pulled me close and kissed my neck again.
I didn’t want him to stop. I had to make him stop. “Please, Pentawere,” I said, trying to twist free. “Please.”
He released me, clearly disappointed. He sighed. “I’ll hear you out, Neset. But then…”
I let my imagination run wild. I’d feared he’d forgotten me and he hadn’t. On the contrary, he still wanted me. Wanted me! I forced myself to take up my errand before I lost the will to do it altogether. “Pentawere – the workers in Ta Set Maat have been working on your brother Amenherkoshef’s tomb in Ta Set Neferu. But they haven’t received their ration of grain for more than three weeks. First they petitioned Amennakht – he made it clear he didn’t believe in their cause but promised to present their case. He never reported back to them. Then they appealed to the mayor of Waset – he turned them away. So did the First God’s Servant. Finally, Hednakht. He barely listened to their complaints before ordering them to get back to work and dashing off. I know, because I’ve been with the workers the whole time. Believe me, Pentawere, you’re their last and only hope.”
“Tell me what I need to know, Neset. How many people rely on these rations?”
“Sixty craftsmen and their families. About five hundred altogether.”
“What’s the amount of the ration?” he asked.
“For a foreman, seven and a half sacks of emmer. For a scribe, just under four sacks. For each worker, five and a half sacks, enough to feed sixteen people. The gatekeepers, washermen, fishermen, and various others receive amounts in the same range.”
“How much grain in a sack?”
“Seventy–seven pounds. A foreman’s ration is worth nine deben of copper, if that puts it in perspective.”
“Perhaps Father’s building program or my brother’s army has drained the royal warehouses here of grain,” Pentawere speculated.
“I go among the temple magazines in my role as overseer of your father’s garden daily, Pentawere. The tribute of this entire land is accumulated in the temples of Horemheb and Ramesses the Great, and in Djeme.” I lowered my voice, glanced over my shoulder towards the entrance of the hall. “Oversight became lax generations ago when the court moved to Pi–Ramesses. I’ve heard rumors that temple officials allocate some of the village’s grain to themselves, and that as much as nine–tenths of some temples’ grain supposedly goes missing. If that’s true it would bring dishonor on Pharaoh.” I had no idea if the charge was true, though I’d heard it often enough. It didn’t hurt to cast some doubt. Better that than tell Pentawere that squabbling among various royal officials was the most likely cause of the delay and the inability to resolve it.
“The ration seems exceptionally large,” Pentawere noted.
“Only part gets eaten. Workers barter their excess at the riverside market for foodstuffs Pharaoh doesn’t supply, and wine, and to hire servants, and to pay for funeral goods and luxuries. The wealth you take for granted the craftsmen must earn. Whoever is holding back the ration is depriving the workers of purchasing power.”
“I suppose it always comes down to that in the end,” Pentawere said. “Believe me, if I commanded Father’s army I’d make sure the tribute of the world poured into Waset, like when the third Thutmose was pharaoh. Then there’d be no issue with the ration.”
“But you’re not, so there is, and there’s something even larger at stake, Pentawere. My husband stole from Ramesses the Great when times were good. Think how tempting the tombs must look now that times are bad. The striking workers know where the justified pharaohs are buried and they have the skill to tunnel into their tombs without being detected and remove whatever they want. Remember – my husband and his accomplices who stole were executed, but the men in Waset they bartered with are still free.”
“Yes, that’s always bothered me.”
“Men will steal just like my husband did, if they haven’t already. They’ll find a ready market for the justified pharaohs’ riches in Waset. Isn’t it worth ensuring grain is delivered on time and in the right amount if it prevents wholesale theft?”
“You’re a very wise and persuasive woman, Neset.” Pentawere smiled. “The workers are lucky they have you to plead their cause – you’re a wonderful and compelling advocate. How can I possibly refuse you?” He took hold of my hands once more. “I’ll give the order to Hednakht today. I’ll send word to the workers that their rations will arrive in the morning.”
“Thank you, Pentawere,” I said sincerely. “Your name will be honored
in Ta Set Maat forever.” I brought his hands to my chest. “And in my heart.”
He looked into my eyes. “That’s the only place I care about.”
And then he kissed me.
***
Peret (Seed)
Pentawere
***
I remained at Djeme for two months while Amenherkoshef’s body was prepared and then laid inside a tomb. Ironically, not the one Ta Set Maat’s craftsmen had hastily completed after I settled their strike. Father feared my brother’s tomb would be robbed; he’d buried him inside Grandfather’s in the Great Place instead. Neset and I shared a laugh over that. Anyway, those were the best two months of my life. The entire time, in the hours Neset and I weren’t occupied with our daily duties, we were inseparable. She refused to visit me in my rooms in the per’aa, especially after Father and Ramesses and the rest of the family returned from Abdju – she was convinced her being seen with me would lead to trouble for us both and I couldn’t change her mind. So we saw each other at Pere’s estate along the river instead. He was overseer of Father’s treasury, a long–time friend, trustworthy enough to keep our presence secret.
The estate was a thirty–minute walk south of Djeme, not far from the ancient ruins of Malqata, the vast complex erected by the third Amenhotep some two hundred years earlier. Father had granted the estate to Pere’s father decades ago, and he’d inherited it. The rambling mud–brick house had a veranda on the east side that overlooked a somewhat shabby garden stretching nearly to the river, the whole surrounded by a mud–brick wall. A vineyard and orchard were west of the house, as well as extensive fields of emmer. Cattle and sheep grazed on the estate’s margins. Pere’s overseer ran the estate in his absence – Pere had a smaller house abutting the Ramesseum where he spent most of his time. The overseer’s wife supervised the house servants. While very fine for an official, the house was modest compared to my quarters in Father’s per’aa, so I staffed it with servants from Djeme and numerous creature comforts to make it more fitting. Neset and my friends and I ate well thanks to foodstuffs I ordered delivered from the per’aa – bread in various shapes, garlic, onions, leeks, cucumbers, watermelon, dates, olives, beef, ibex, gazelle, antelope, duck and goose, and of course quantities of beer and wine. In the per’aa we would have been entertained nightly by the Overseer of Singers and the Overseer of Flautists. In their stead I rounded up a few musicians who usually played in the temples.
“I’ve never dreamed of a life like this,” Neset said one evening as we dined on the veranda, moonlight sparkling on the distant palm–lined river, stars shining overhead, the fragrance of flowers wafting on the warm breeze. “Such indolence, Pentawere. Such luxury. Usually I wait on Grandfather – here your servants attend me. I confess – I’m going to miss this when you return to Pi–Ramesses and our lives go back to normal.”
I was enamored of Neset. Every day I presented her with gifts – jewelry of red carnelian and turquoise and lapis lazuli and gold, all of indescribably fine craftsmanship. Earrings and diadems and headbands and pendants on chains and large collars strung with beads and broad collars and bracelets and rings and girdles and belts and anklets. Ivory combs, and see–faces with obsidian handles shaped like papyrus stems, and ointment containers of alabaster and calcite and white amethyst rimmed with gold, and spoons in the shape of female swimmers for mixing cosmetic powders, all richly decorated. Fine dresses, pleated, some white, some dyed various colors, embroidered, painted, some with sequins, some with beads. I gave her an ebony cosmetics box holding containers of blue and brown and green and yellow glass in various shapes and sizes, filled with red ocher to color her cheeks and lips, henna to color her nails, kohl to outline and protect her eyes. A gorgeous set of obsidian and gold containers held the most fragrant oils and perfumes in the land, including festive fragrance and Setjetian balsam and Tjehenuian cedar oil. I didn’t give her wigs, though – I loved the sight of her long red hair, especially when it was unbound and twisting in the breeze.
I’d never met any woman as charismatic as Neset. My friends were drawn to her too. Maybe it was the stories handed down in her family from ancient times that she told with such practiced flair – she knew so much more about what had happened in the valley than me or the rest of my friends. Or maybe it was that she was unbelievably kind and caring and compassionate, easy to talk to, a woman who put everyone around her at ease, who took a sincere interest in everyone. She’d been terribly hurt by her husband and afterwards by her so–called friends. Yet she’d put her animosity aside and taken a risk and come to me to help them resolve their strike. As near as I could tell they hadn’t thanked her afterwards for what she’d done. She didn’t hold that against them. She’d helped the villagers for their children’s sake, she told me, not theirs. She seemed incapable of holding a grudge. I just wished she’d stop holding back from me. I wanted Neset in the worst way but so far she hadn’t succumbed to my importuning, and I’d pressed her harder than I’d ever pressed a woman. Far too often I caught glimpses of wariness in her eyes. Understandable. She’d been the victim of a serially unfaithful man. Sad to say, a man much like me. I’d spent half my life sampling every beautiful woman in sight. But I hadn’t so much as looked at another since Neset and I had been together in Pi–Ramesses. I compared every woman to her now and found them lacking. I knew I had to prove myself to her, to demonstrate I’d changed, before she’d surrender to me. It was the price I had to pay to atone for my former life. But despite that I’d never been so happy, and I thought she was too. I wanted her to be mine, to be with her forever.
On the evenings I didn’t host a party, after we dined, we either walked the estate or strolled along the riverbank or sailed for miles in one of the smaller royal barques. Occasionally we played Senet on the veranda; she was more than my equal.
I threw a party at Pere’s three or four times a week. They always lasted until dawn, with fine food and wine and musicians and dancers and storytellers. Everyone of any importance on both banks of the river clamored for invitations. I granted the requests of anyone I thought might be able to advance my fortunes either now or in the future. I was more popular among Waset’s officials and priests than my brother and I intended to keep it that way. Neset was soon on a first–name basis with army commanders and captains and standard bearers and heralds and policemen and harem inspectors and butlers and scribes and chiefs of the harem chamber and infantry officers and overseers and priests and mayors, and their wives and sisters and daughters. Admittedly, the parties weren’t always enjoyable for the priests; if they were on duty they had to remain celibate and couldn’t eat beans or pork or fish or beef or mutton or pigeon or garlic or vegetables. They watched longingly while the rest of us indulged ourselves. Naturally, unattached women were omnipresent in great numbers, all young and nubile and beautiful. But Neset stood head and shoulders above every one of them as far as I was concerned, more compelling, far more interesting, fiercer. None of them had faced the adversity she had. None would have been capable of rising above it and forging a new, better life for themselves.
One dawn Neset and I breakfasted with hangers–on from the previous night’s party. It had been memorable and particularly wild, attended by key army officers and officials from Father’s harem and per’aa. Along with beautiful women and an unlimited supply of wine. As the men ate, bleary–eyed, yawning, hung over, their half–asleep and scantily dressed companions from the night before at their sides, talk turned as it usually did when military men gathered to the valley’s past glories.
“The third Thutmose was the mightiest pharaoh of all,” proclaimed Peyes, my brother’s deputy. I’d made sure he’d come to Djeme with me from Pi–Ramesses for the funeral. I was continuing to cultivate him.
“You forget that Ramesses the Great ruled for sixty–seven years!” retorted Teynakhte. A long white scar marred his right bicep. “His defeat of the Hittites at Qadesh…”
“Was a fabrication,” interrupted Binemwese. “The Hittite
s tricked Ramesses and caught him off guard. He nearly lost his army. He was lucky the fight ended in a draw. But proclaim victory loudly enough…”
“How can you cast aspersions on Ramesses’ accomplishments?” asked Messui, a scribe who oversaw the per’aa archives. “I’ve read the scrolls from his time. I’ve read the inscriptions on the walls of the Ramesseum. I’ve studied the battle scenes. He crushed the Hittites!”
“He didn’t,” Neset averred.
She was the only one in the room who was entirely clear–headed. She had tremendous self control when it came to drinking. Something my pounding head envied at the moment.
“Ramesses had generations to spread his propaganda and create a false reality. Binemwese is absolutely correct.”
“How could you possibly know?” Messui asked disparagingly. “You’re just a woman…”
“A woman Pharaoh named overseer,” I snapped. My pounding head was making me short–tempered.
“My three times great–grandfather, Duaenre, fought at Qadesh,” Neset said evenly. “He was one of Pharaoh’s bodyguards. His story’s been handed down in my family.”
“Pharaohs lie. That’s for certain,” Heket said bitterly. “Tell us what really happened, Neset.”
Peynok, overseer of Father’s harem, had snuck Heket out of the per’aa for the night so she could supposedly visit her brother Binemwese. But she hadn’t paid him any attention. She’d brazenly flirted with every one of the army officers instead. Heket hadn’t been called to Father’s bed even once since he’d acquired his four barbarian concubines, according to Peynok. She’d taken her loss of favor hard. She never held her tongue about Father anymore when she’d had too much to drink, which was every time she attended one of my parties. I thought her comments were mostly amusing. Neset considered them scandalous.
“In the fifth year of his reign Ramesses decided to drive the Hittites from Qadesh, a fortified town in Setjet,” Neset began. “His army consisted of four divisions, just like today – Amen, Re, Ptah and Seth, plus a smaller independent unit drawn from the best men of the four divisions, called Ne’arin, along with Sherdan mercenaries – men he’d captured in battle and sworn into his service. Twenty thousand men in all. After landing near Sumur, Ramesses left the Ne’arin behind to secure its port while he headed north towards Qadesh with the rest of his force, following the east bank of the Orontes River. Not far from Qadesh, while his four divisions were marching through the Robaui Forest, screened from Hittite eyes, Ramesses captured two Hittite deserters. They told him the Hittite army had abandoned Qadesh days earlier and retreated to Khalep.
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 25
