The visits to the shrines complete, Pharaoh and his retinue returned to stand before the thrones.
“Pharaoh will now run a ritual race around the inside walls of this temple before the shrines of the gods,” the Greatest of Craftsmen cried. “So shall he be reborn and receive the blessings of the gods and take possession of sky and earth once more, as he did on the day of his coronation.”
A nearly unbearable tension settled over the spectators in the courtyard. Like all residents of the valley, I had a deeply rooted fear of chaos and disorder. Everyone’s daily existence was precarious, balanced between flood and desert and feast and famine. Pharaoh alone was responsible for maintaining maat, or order, throughout the land, for keeping chaos at bay. During the Heb–Sed Pharaoh ritually died. He, and the land, fleetingly descended into chaos, putting the valley in great danger. If he failed to complete his race he wouldn’t be reborn. Maat wouldn’t be restored. And so the fate of the world I knew was hanging in the balance as Pharaoh prepared for his run.
Ramesses removed his cloak and handed it to a priest, who carefully folded it. Wearing only his white shendyt, Pharaoh moved to the outer ring of shrines and then broke into a slow trot, first along the south side of the square, then the east, then the north. Everyone in the crowd turned in a slow circle to watch his progress, craning their necks to see over those who stood in front of them. I held my breath. Pharaoh was elderly and corpulent, the sun was beating down fiercely, and he had to be tired from the first part of the morning’s ceremony. There was no guarantee he’d complete the race, and if he didn’t, then what?
But he did finish, to the wild cheers of everyone gathered in the courtyard. Joy mingled with relief flooded over us like a wave. Ramesses moved into the center of the open space before the temple entrance and smiled triumphantly, though he was breathing hard. A servant rushed forward with a large jar of water, which Pharaoh drank greedily. Sweat was pouring down his face and chest and arms and back. A servant wiped Pharaoh’s face with a linen cloth several times.
An elaborately carved and brightly painted post lay on the ground next to a hole that had been dug the night before a few paces from the temple pylon. Pharaoh walked to it, accompanied by the high priests.
“This is the djed pillar,” the Greatest of Seers announced. “It represents a post upon which climbs a plant. Since long before the days of Horus–Narmer, the first ruler of our united land, such pillars have been linked to the fertility of the soil that is renewed each year to bring life to the valley. This djed pillar is a symbol of royal endurance and of the resurrection and annual rebirth of our land.”
The three high priests positioned the end of the pillar so that it rested on the lip of the hole. Then Pharaoh moved to its head, bent, seized it, lifted. Slowly, the pillar moved towards the vertical, the base slipping into the hole. Pharaoh laid his shoulder against the pillar to straighten it and pushed with all his might. It settled into place. Another cheer rose. I was not the only spectator visibly relieved.
Finally, a priest handed Pharaoh a bow and, one after another, he shot an arrow in each of the cardinal directions. He drew back the bowstring easily. The arrows disappeared over the walls to the oohs and aahs of the crowd.
Grandfather nudged me. “Surprised, Neset? I told you Pharaoh was a warrior in his youth. He didn’t defeat his enemies from long distance – he led his troops personally.”
“Who was the better archer, Grandfather? Pharaoh or you?”
Grandfather only smiled.
Pharaoh resumed his seat in the shade upon the throne of the lower valley.
The First God’s Servant of Amen, Usermarenakht, approached Pharaoh bearing Deshret, the Red Crown of the lower valley, a headdress of red leather, low in front and high in back. He placed it on Ramesses’ head. “I crown you pharaoh of the lower valley, renewed!” he cried. He retreated to the foot of the dais and bowed low.
After a moment, a minor priest stepped to Pharaoh’s side and removed the crown from his head. Ramesses shifted to the second throne.
The Greatest of Seers, Ramesses’ son Meryatum, approached Pharaoh, this time with Hedjet, the White Crown of the upper valley, a bulbous white tiara, in his hands. He placed it on his father’s head. “I crown you pharaoh of the upper valley, renewed!” He retreated to the foot of the dais and bowed.
Another minor priest removed Hedjet.
The Greatest of Craftsmen approached Pharaoh, bearing Sekhmet, the Double Crown, his hands fully extended above his head. Hedjet was nestled within Deshret; attached to the front of the combined crowns were the Two Ladies – a solid gold uraeus serpent coiled to strike, representing the goddess Wadjet of the lower valley, and a solid gold vulture representing the goddess Nekhbet of the upper valley. The high priest placed the crown on Pharaoh’s head. “I crown you pharaoh of the entire valley, renewed!”
Usermarenakht stepped forward. In his hands he carried a crook and flail, both made of gold and copper cylinders intermixed with beads of gold and glass and lapis lazuli, ancient signs of authority dating to a time when the people of the valley still wandered the desert and hadn’t yet settled in the river valley. He gave the symbols to Pharaoh, who took one in each hand and crossed them over his chest.
The First God’s Servant moved to the side and turned to the crowd. “Behold! Usermaatre–Meryamen – Powerful One of Maat and Re, Beloved of Amen – our pharaoh, renewed! Life, prosperity, health!”
“Life, prosperity, health!” all cried, and the ritual was over.
***
“Beloved!” Pentawere caught sight of me, stepped into Ramesses’ chapel, threw his arms open wide.
I’d been waiting for half an hour inside the darkened chapel, pacing back and forth, nervous, alive with anticipation and dread. The chapel contained massive red granite statues of Ramesses the Great and Ptah and Sekhmet. There was a courtyard between the chapel and the gateway flanked by seated statues of Ramesses. From inside the chapel door I’d had a perfect vantage point from which to make sure none of Tiye’s spies were skulking about.
I didn’t move to embrace Pentawere. Even though I wanted to so badly it hurt.
He stared at me. His smile died. He dropped his arms. “What’s wrong, Neset?”
“Everything!” I sat down cross–legged on the ground, my back against the temple wall.
Pentawere sat too, facing me, frowning. “What does that mean? Why are we meeting in such an out of the way place?”
“Your mother,” I replied harshly.
“Mother?”
“Did you know she had spies trailing us in Pi–Ramesses? And while you were staying in Pere’s house?” I was bitter. I’d been storing my bitterness for a long time.
“No.” Pentawere’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”
“She told me, Pentawere. She waylaid me near the garden the night of the Isis Festival, right after we parted. She said things – horrible things. She called me your whore.”
“Oh, Neset!”
“She accused me of seducing you, Pentawere. She accused me of sleeping with you in Pi–Ramesses and at Pere’s to pry gifts from you.”
“By the gods!” Pentawere ran a hand through his hair. “None of it’s true!”
“Her spy obviously lied and told her what she wanted to hear. She ordered me to never see you again. She threatened me. She said she’d tell Pharaoh about my husband if she caught us together. She said I’d lose my position and maybe even my life.”
“I’m so sorry, Neset,” Pentawere said sincerely, reaching out, laying his hand on my knee. “Mother had no right to terrify you.”
“She said she’d make sure you marry a proper wife.”
“Well, I’m not married yet,” Pentawere assured me.
“Now you know why I wanted to meet here, where no one would see us. Even here is too risky. Your mother probably has spies trailing both of us in Mennefer, trying to catch us together.”
“Let her.”
“That’s easy for you to sa
y, Pentawere. She can’t do anything to you.” I glanced out the door, scanned the courtyard, made sure no one was looking for us. “She’s the reason I didn’t come to the harbor to see you off when you left for Pi–Ramesses, like I promised. I saw you looking for me. It broke my heart to watch you from hiding. I’ve been afraid the past six months you thought I hadn’t cared enough about you to say goodbye.”
“I figured something had happened,” Pentawere said. “But not that you didn’t care. You told me you did. And I’d confessed my love.”
“I thought you’d forgotten about me. I haven’t heard from you in six months.”
“I sent messages,” Pentawere said.
“I never received them.”
He cursed. “Mother.”
“I assume you’ve crossed paths with too many beautiful women to count in Pi–Ramesses?”
He reddened slightly. “From all parts of the valley. Every time I turn around.” He stiffened. “Mother again.”
“Exactly what I would have done in her place.”
“No, Neset. You’d want your son to be happy above all else. Nothing has changed between us as far as I’m concerned. I still love you so much it hurts.”
“But everything’s changed for me,” I said sadly and deliberately. I’d been rehearsing what I was going to say to Pentawere ever since he’d spotted me in the crowd this morning. Awful, awful words. “We can’t see each other ever again. Otherwise, your mother will tell Pharaoh about me. I’ll lose my position or my life. Grandfather will lose his position.”
“Mother isn’t that powerful, Neset,” Pentawere argued. I could tell I was scaring him. “Besides, Father likes you. I assume he invited you to come to Mennefer?”
“Yes. But you’re underestimating your mother, Pentawere. She also hates me because your father likes me. She thinks your father will eventually marry me.”
“I’d never forgive him!” Pentawere said, brow furrowed in anger.
“So, you see, I can’t cross your mother.”
“I can handle her.”
“I don’t think you can. And I can’t take the risk, Pentawere. Why should I defy her anyway? What could I possibly gain? Pharaoh will never let us marry no matter how much you plead.”
“I’ll convince him.”
“You won’t.” I took hold of his hands. “Maybe your mother’s simply forcing us to face reality. Maybe she’s making it impossible for us to do anything except the thing we must do – go our separate ways.”
Pentawere raised my fingers to his lips, kissed them. “Is that what you want, Neset? To say goodbye forever? Didn’t these past six months eat you up inside? They did me.”
“Of course they did. Believe me, I can’t imagine my life without you in it. But that’s how it has to be. Find someone new to love, Pentawere. Someone who’ll make you happy.”
“No one will ever make me as happy as you do.”
“You won’t know if you don’t look.”
“I looked for years. Then I found you.”
“Look again.”
“What about you, Neset? Will you move on from me so easily?”
“Easily?” I squeezed his hands hard. “No other man will ever have my heart, Pentawere. I’m condemning myself to a lonely life, giving you up. But I don’t have a choice.”
“There has to be a way out of this,” Pentawere said, frustrated, my words sinking in. “Once Father dies Mother won’t have anything to hold over you. Then we can be together.”
“You’ll be married with a flock of children by then. Probably several wives. You’re Pharaoh’s son. He’ll order you to marry. You’ll have to. You have obligations. It’s time for you to give up the fantasy we’ve been living and embrace your reality. As I’ve had to do.”
“I don’t want the reality you describe, Neset.”
“Neither do I.” I couldn’t prolong this parting. I had to run while I still had the strength, before Pentawere talked me into doing something foolish. I got to my feet. “Goodbye, Pentawere.” I fled from the temple, blinded by tears, lost, alone.
Behind me I heard Pentawere’s anguished cry.
1155 BC: 31st Regnal Year of Ramesses, Third of His Name
Akhet (Flood)
Neset
Djeme’s banquet hall looked amazing. The first night of this year’s Epagomenal Days celebration promised to be spectacular.
Grandfather and I had returned from the Heb–Sed at Mennefer two weeks ago. Tonight’s banquet would be followed by four more to mark the end of one year and beginning of the next. I was glad for the intense work; maybe it would help distract me from constantly thinking about Pentawere. I knew I’d done the right thing at Mennefer, giving him up. But I now faced a new reality – the prospect of a long lonely life, full of regret for rejecting the only man I’d ever truly cared for. In so doing I’d saved my position and Grandfather’s by inoculating us both from Tiye’s wrath, but that didn’t comfort me in the depths of night when I literally ached to feel Pentawere’s arms around me.
Grandfather’s porters had been delivering flowers to the per’aa since dawn and a dozen of his girls, under my direction, had been arranging them in this hall ever since. Serving girls were moving about the hall now, lighting linen wicks in bowls of oil, and torches set along the walls. Night was fast approaching and the hall darkening. Pharaoh had requested that I take charge of decorating this hall because officials had come to Djeme for the holiday from the entire valley and I was the only person he trusted to ensure the hall made the proper impression. Tomorrow morning Grandfather and I would repeat today’s effort; Ramesses wanted fresh flowers all five days.
I rolled up the scroll detailing my decorating plan, one Pharaoh had personally approved after consulting with me. I tucked it inside a leather pouch and slung it over my shoulder. I looked over the hall one last time, dismissed Grandfather’s girls, then exited into the temple’s first court. I took a moment to inspect the lotus garlands that would grace guests’ necks – the girls who’d soon be distributing them were milling about near the hall’s entrance, arranging skirts and girdles and touching up their makeup while the steward in charge clucked at them.
Torches set in a double line from Djeme’s gate to Ramesses’ temple and the per’aa illuminated early arrivals making their way across the darkened courtyard. At dawn I’d gone to Djeme’s harbor to accept delivery of flowers from Grandfather’s fields on the east bank; I’d never seen so many boats crowding it and the harbors of nearby temples of millions of years. The celebrations were going to be massive this year. My work done for the day, I left the temple and crossed the courtyard along its wall, then turned onto the lane passing through the warren of mud–brick huts clustered between the temple and Djeme’s outer wall. Pools of light spilled from the doors of huts into the lane. I was tired and hungry and footsore. I greeted everyone I passed. They all knew and liked me, unlike the villagers I’d lived among in Ta Set Maat. Many were hurrying to the banquet hall to serve the guests. All of them, like me, were devoting their lives to Pharaoh, working either in the per’aa or one of the temples or on Djeme’s grounds.
I entered my hut. It was dark inside. Usually Grandfather had a lamp going by now. I felt about, found a bowl of oil, lit its linen wick. Light began dancing on the walls. Grandfather was on his pallet, laying on his side, facing the wall. For him to be napping was unusual. But, he’d been getting tired earlier and earlier ever since our return from the North. Our long journey to Mennefer and back had worn him out. I let him sleep a while longer, moved to storage jars in the corner of the hut, laid out a meal of bread and fruit and fish, poured two cups of beer. I went to the pallet, knelt, shook Grandfather. He was cold. His eyes were open, staring.
Grandfather was dead.
I screamed. The one person who’d always loved me no matter what was gone. Without warning. Without telling me goodbye. I sat back on my haunches, overcome with grief. I started rocking. I began to keen. Tears rolled down my cheeks.
Ne
ighbors burst into my hut. The women gathered around me, knelt, joined their voices to mine. Some wrapped me in their arms. The men stood behind us, silent, respectful. Many of them worked for Grandfather. All liked him. All were shocked by his sudden death. After an hour or so they began to drift away, offering me their condolences. My closest friends remained and we bathed Grandfather and dressed him in his finest garments. Soon after that the embalmers arrived, summoned by one of the men.
Neighbors moved Grandfather from his pallet onto a litter, then lifted him. I kissed him one last time, then removed the talisman from around his neck and put it around mine. The ancient relic of our family. My burden now.
A priest who’d come with the embalmers led the procession from the house, reciting ancient verses to assure Grandfather a safe arrival in the Afterlife. I followed directly behind the litter. Word had spread; the lane was crowded with silent men and women who’d worked for Grandfather, not only on the west bank but the east as well. Several men were carrying torches to light the way. The priest headed towards the house of embalming at the far end of Djeme, near the wall closest to the sacred hills. I bent, over and over, grabbed handfuls of dirt, threw them on my head. The dirt mixed with the tears streaking my face, turning it to mud.
More rituals outside the mud–brick house of embalming, lasting for hours. I was too numb and overwhelmed to pay much attention to what was going on. Eventually the embalmers carried Grandfather inside. There they’d first remove the soft tissue that might decay and spoil, then dry him with natron, then wrap him in strips of linen, a months–long process. Grandfather had prepared for his death in advance; the embalmers had already received their payment, his tomb had been completed, his coffin waited for him. Once he was ready I’d return and claim his body and take him to his final rest on Qurnet Murai, one of the hills on the west bank plain.
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 33
