“Sensing an easy victory, Ramesses left the bulk of his army behind and hurried towards Qadesh with the Amen Division. He forded the Orontes and set up camp on the plain west of the river, just outside the citadel. He called a meeting of his commanders to castigate them for not knowing the enemy had fled. During the meeting his scouts brought him two Hittite spies they’d captured. Under questioning, they revealed that the enemy, reinforced by a dozen allies, were poised in ambush on the far side of Qadesh, ‘more numerous than the sands of the shore.’ Ramesses immediately sent messengers to hasten the Re Division forward – they were five miles to the south on the wrong side of the river. The division hurriedly forded the Orontes and marched across the plain. When they were halfway to Ramesses’ camp thirty–five hundred Hittite chariots, manned by more than ten thousand men, smashed into their flank, delivering a devastating blow. The Ptah Division watched helplessly from the east bank of the Orontes as Hittites cut the Re Division in two. The panicked survivors fled either back in the direction from which they’d come or towards Ramesses, the Hittite chariots in hot pursuit, cutting the men down from behind like stalks of emmer during the harvest. Chariots pounded all the way into Ramesses’ camp, smashing into the unprepared Amen Division, inflicting severe losses. The Hittites were on the verge of wiping out our men. But instead of pressing their advantage the greedy Hittites abruptly halted their attack to loot Ramesses’ tents. Ramesses and his personal guards, including my ancestor, and the surviving soldiers from Amen and Re, reorganized and desperately launched a counterattack. They drove the booty–laden Hittites back across the plain towards the advancing Ptah Division, which was frantically fording the river to join the battle. That’s when the Hittite commander, Muwatallis, threw in his chariot reserve, hoping to annihilate what little remained of Amen and Re. But Ramesses fought so fiercely he slowed the Hittite advance, just long enough for Ptah to arrive on the field and strike the chariots from the south. At almost the same moment, the Ne’arin appeared after a forced march from Sumur and struck the Hittites from the north. Ramesses’ army crushed the barbarian chariots. Hundreds of Hittites had to swim the Orontes trying to save themselves. Many drowned.”
“So Ramesses really did win a great victory!” Messui exclaimed.
“He didn’t,” Neset corrected. “Muwatallis still had eight thousand infantry waiting in formation on the plain east of Qadesh. For reasons beyond comprehension he never committed them to battle. Ramesses’ army was too battered to attack them. For a few days Ramesses and Muwatallis watched each other uneasily. Eventually both withdrew from Qadesh. Both claimed victory. Though it was clearly a draw.”
I was impressed as always by Neset’s extensive knowledge of the past.
“In year twenty–one Ramesses signed a peace treaty with the Hittites, the world’s first,” she continued. “It’s recorded on a wall in Ipet–Isut. A few years later the Hittite king sent Ramesses his daughter as a bride. Duaenre helped negotiate the marriage and accompanied her entourage from her home to the valley. And so we coexisted with the Hittites from then on, until the Sea Peoples crushed their empire and erased them from the earth.”
“What about the third Thutmose’s accomplishments?” Shedmeszer asked uncertainly. He too was a scribe. “I suppose he exaggerated too?”
“He didn’t,” Neset replied. “I know, because my ancestor Tjanuni was his military scribe and recorded what he did. He served Thutmose on every one of his campaigns.”
Peyes smiled. “Seventeen in his five decades on the throne. His capture of Megiddo was legendary – and that was just one of the three hundred–fifty towns he took in battle. He expanded our borders farther to north and east than any pharaoh before or after, all the way to Naharina.”
“The whole world feared us when Thutmose ruled,” I concurred.
“He wasn’t just a great warrior,” Neset added. “He was curious about everything, and learned. He took scribes on every expedition to record new plants and animals he encountered. Afterwards, Tjanuni ensured their images were etched on the walls of one of the rooms in his temple in Ipet–Isut.”
“But the great warrior kings are no more,” Binemwese said with disgust. “Pharaoh fought the Tjehenuians twice and the Sea Peoples once, decades ago, on our soil. He hasn’t tried to expand our borders or regain the territory his ancestors lost.”
The words I’d been using so often were now being regularly repeated by influential officers in Father’s army. They were coming around to my way of thinking.
“The tribute that used to flow so freely into the valley has almost dried up,” concurred Pere. “We need a warrior on the throne again, to expand our territory and demand tribute and restore our finances.”
“Perhaps Pharaoh’s finances would be stronger if there wasn’t so much corruption among his officials,” Neset offered. “Certain men in Waset have grown rich siphoning off goods from temples and bartering objects stolen from the tombs of the justified kings.”
“I suppose you’d know about that,” Messui said. “After all, your husband…”
“Enough!” I told the scribe sternly. I’d not have Neset lumped in with thieves when she bore no guilt.
“Why advocate for the expense of a war when the valley’s at peace?” Neset asked.
“You’d prefer Pharaoh maintain peace by marrying his sons to the daughters of our enemies?” Peynok, overseer of Father’s harem, queried.
Neset looked at me. “No…”
“My faith is in a strong army – not a woman’s skirts,” scoffed Teynakhte.
“So it should be,” Heket snapped. “Pharaoh is fickle. He’s not loyal to any woman. He’s always seeking someone new. Worse, he’s easily swayed by the exotic. Aren’t any of you worried that his four new wretches will curry favor for their homelands with him? Who knows where that might lead?”
I couldn’t help laugh. “You’re just angry because Father cast you aside when my brother presented him with new concubines.”
“Of course I am!” Heket snarled. “I’ll never forgive him!”
“But it didn’t bother you when he cast his last favorite aside to be with you, Heket. It didn’t bother you how his four wives felt when he took you to his bed. Or the concubines he was sleeping with years before you were born.”
She stared at me sullenly.
I finished my wine.
An exhausted serving girl shakily refilled my cup.
“You should take Heket more seriously, Majesty,” scolded Pebekkamen, chief of the chamber under Peynok. “As far as the influence the four wretches have over your father – Heket’s expressing the opinion of every woman in his harem.”
Heket finished her cup and set it down unsteadily. She was drunk and so without inhibition. “You wouldn’t believe the unrest in the harem, Majesty. Iset lords it over your father’s wives and concubines. You should see how she treats your mother. It’s disgraceful! And Iset the daughter of a wretch.” Her eyes bored into mine. “But even Iset’s powerless against the four wretches.”
Peynok and Pebekkamen and El–ram nodded in agreement.
“What do you think would happen to you if Pharaoh heard you talk like this?” Neset asked Heket, perturbed.
“But Heket’s absolutely right,” said El–ram defiantly.
This conversation was getting out of hand. Who knew how far drunken sentiments might spread? Or evolve as they were bandied about. Though it was good to know there was so much unrest in Father’s per’aa among those closest to him. Something I might be able to turn to my advantage some day. “Enough! No more talk about harem women,” I ordered.
Peyes nudged me. “Now that your brother rests in the Great Place, will Pharaoh name you leader of his cavalry?”
“He’d better,” I replied. “I’m the best and only choice. Iset’s son Amenherkoshef is nearly my age but has no military experience or interest. Setherkopshef’s still a boy. Meryatum is Greatest of Seers – that position’s too powerful to give up because Father contro
ls the Re priests and their wealth through him. By default, that leaves me. Rest assured, Peyes and Binemwese and Teynakhte – you’ll rise with me in years to come. First the cavalry. Eventually the entire army. Together we’ll invade Setjet and Retenu and beyond and create a new empire to rival the third Thutmose’s.”
Everyone raised their cups to that. No one bothered asking how I was going to shunt my brother aside.
***
A few days later, an hour after dawn, Neset nestled against me on a somewhat secluded bench in Pere’s garden, sheltered from prying eyes by pomegranate and fig and sycamore trees. Tomorrow at this time I’d be on my boat, sailing back to Pi–Ramesses along with Peyes and a small troop of soldiers he’d brought with him. With my brother buried I had no excuse to remain in the South any longer. I’d delayed my departure as long as possible; yesterday Father had sternly ordered me to return to my post. Neset’s and my legs and arms were touching, our bodies warmed and colored by sunlight filtering through leaves clustered on low–hanging branches. Birds sang overhead; others flashed over tall colorful flowers that waved in the breeze. Bees buzzed, traveling from flowers to the hive set up in a corner of the greenery.
“I’m going to miss you more than I can say,” I told Neset, lightly stroking her bare arm from shoulder to elbow.
“My heart already aches,” she said. She caressed my cheek with her fingertips and leaned over and kissed me, long, passionately, as if to make up in advance for the time we’d be apart.
I wrapped my arms around her and she lay her head against my chest. I looked up. The sky was a brilliant blue, not yet colored by the omnipresent dust. I stroked her hair. “I’m in love with you, Neset.”
She sat up, looked at me, surprised.
“I didn’t intend for it to happen,” I said, brushing back strands of hair falling across her face. “When I approached you at Pi–Ramesses I thought you’d be like every other woman I’ve enjoyed and discarded. You were right about the gifts I sent you for the banquet – I hoped they’d buy me a night with you in my bed. I’m glad they didn’t. You wouldn’t be the woman you are if you’d surrendered to me for a few trinkets. You’re not like any woman I’ve ever known. You’re smart and determined and fierce and passionate. The thought of leaving you behind tomorrow is excruciating. I was absolutely unsettled and empty after you left Pi–Ramesses. Thinking about not seeing you every day is a thousand times worse. I’ve never felt before like I feel right now.”
“Pentawere…”
“Could you ever love me, Neset?” I interrupted.
Her eyes searched mine, dark and shining. “I care for you more than I’ve ever cared for any man, Pentawere. I’ve never known anyone like you either.” She pulled her hair back with both hands, lifted it to cool her neck, dropped it. “After Mesedptah died I promised myself I’d never get entangled with another man ever. I closed my heart to the idea of love. Then, when we spent time together in Pi–Ramesses, I foolishly let myself dream. And after these weeks together… I could love you if I let myself, Pentawere. But how can I? We can’t be together. You’ll leave me and break my heart.”
I took her hands in mine. “I won’t break your heart, Neset. I promise. Return with me to Pi–Ramesses tomorrow morning. Marry me.”
She drew her breath in. “You know I can’t.”
“Because I’m royal and you’re common? People have overcome far more than that to be together.”
“You have responsibilities, Pentawere. I have a line I won’t cross.”
“I promise I won’t take another wife.”
“Oh, Pentawere.” Neset sighed. “If Pharaoh orders you to marry you’ll have to obey.”
“No one could order me if I was Pharaoh.” I hadn’t admitted to her that succeeding Father was now my ambition, not just gaining command of the army. She’d have a fit if she knew I intended to overthrow my brother.
“But you’re not. And you’ll never be. Your brother Ramesses is already co–ruler.”
“No one knows what the gods have in store for us, Neset,” I retorted. “Anything can happen. Three months ago Amenherkoshef was ahead of me in the line of succession – now he’s dead. Of my older brothers, not counting the Greatest of Seers, only Ramesses lives, and he’s twice my age. Who knows if he’s long for this world?”
“You shouldn’t say such things!” she exclaimed, appalled.
“I’m not wishing my brother ill, Neset. Just pointing out what could happen.” And, a little, wishing him ill. It would make things so much easier.
“You keep telling me your ambition is to command the army, Pentawere,” Neset said. “Now you want to be Pharaoh?”
“If I have to become Pharaoh to marry you that will become my ambition.”
“You won’t. So our marriage is impossible,” she said.
I bent, kissed her. “I disagree. But at least promise you’ll be waiting for me when I return to Djeme for the next holiday. Promise you’ll keep yourself open to the possibility of love. Promise you won’t run off with someone else while I’m in the North.”
“I promise, Pentawere. I promise all of it.”
“You’ll agree to be my wife someday, Neset. I’ll convince you. Then I’ll talk Father into approving our marriage. You’ll see.”
“Wife or not, I’ll always care for you, Pentawere.”
“Then that will have to be enough, for now.” I stroked her hair again. “So, Neset, how should we spend our last day together?”
Neset’s brow furrowed prettily for a moment. Then she brightened. “Would you like to attend the Feast of Isis at Ta Set Maat? Pharaoh’s sending the villagers special provisions for the holiday. They’d love to see you – I’ve been told they sing your praises endlessly for settling their strike when no one else would.”
“It’s your praises they should sing.”
“I gave up on those people years ago,” Neset said, shaking her head. “My life’s better for it.” She squeezed my arm. “You’re proof of that.”
We returned to Djeme from Pere’s estate a few hours later. At mid–afternoon we strolled leisurely to the village on a dusty well–worn path.
“Tell me about Ta Set Maat,” I said.
“It was founded by the first Amenhotep after he defeated the Chiefs of Foreign Lands. His ancestors had ruled the South, so he continued to reside at Waset after his victory. His predecessors had been buried in tombs carved into the hillsides in this plain. They were obviously impossible to guard. So he decided he’d rest for eternity in the Great Place. He rounded up craftsmen with specific skills to excavate and decorate his tomb, not just men of talent, but literate as well, so that the spells carved on walls would be accurate. His mother, Ahmes–Nefertari, convinced Amenhotep that his successors would need craftsmen equally skilled to decorate their tombs. So they decided to erect a village to house their craftsmen, with the intention that the first generation pass their skills on to their descendants and preserve the institutional knowledge of how to construct tombs.
“Amenhotep and Ahmes–Nefertari laid out a village much like a fish – it’s single north–south street the spine, the houses like bones attached to the spine, each door opening onto the street, its entrance gate in the north the mouth. Every house was the same size, with a reception room and living room and food preparation and storage area, and a roof for additional space. They roofed over the main street and erected a wall around the outside, giving the village the appearance, from a distance, of being a single building. They stationed guards at the gate to restrict access. The original craftsmen and their descendants created tombs for seven or eight kings and pharaohs.
“When the heretic founded his capital, Akhetaten, he relocated all of Ta Set Maat’s residents there. They dug tombs for him and his courtiers, and decorated temples in Akhenaten’s vivid new style of depiction. When he died his immediate successors, Tutankhamen and Ay and Horemheb, gradually relocated the craftsmen back here to the abandoned village. During Ramesses the Great’s reign his
vizier, Paser, doubled its size. Between creating tombs for Pharaoh’s wives and hundred children and constructing the Ramesseum and expanding Ipet–Isut, far more craftsmen were needed than ever before. So Paser added twenty houses on each side of the high street and more beyond the northern wall. He also extended the village to the south, where villagers had previously stabled their cows and donkeys. The new houses were larger than the originals. A limestone doorpost engraved with the occupant’s name was added to every house. That’s how the houses are known to this day. Descendants of the original families live in many of them.”
We reached the village and slipped into the crowd milling about outside its eastern wall. The villagers were awaiting the imminent arrival of more than one hundred–fifty donkeys laden with Father’s gifts for today’s festival. The caravan was slowly winding its way around Qurnet Murai towards Ta Set Maat, dust swirling from the donkeys’ hooves. Neset had never looked more appealing. She was wearing a fine dress of sheer white linen with a single strap over her left shoulder, a gold Isis pendant around her neck along with her omnipresent scorpion, gold uraeus earrings, gold bracelets and anklets. Her thick red hair was bound by a golden filet with an attached lotus bud dangling against her forehead. Her eyes were outlined with gray kohl and she wore a fragrant perfume I’d given her that morning. I was wearing a magnificent white shendyt and gold broad collar, and wide gold bands on my biceps and wrists. My nemes headdress was of yellow– and blue–striped cloth, falling loosely to my shoulders.
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 26
