The Gardener and the Assassin

by Mark Gajewski

  “Was your journey home pleasant?” Pentawere inquired.

  “Quite, Majesty. Although, I’d hoped to see you in the month I spent in Pi–Ramesses,” she pouted.

  “I was busy overseeing the military facilities,” Pentawere replied.

  “Yet your nephew attended parties almost nightly,” Tjuyu chided. “Not all royals work as diligently as you.”

  “This is Overseer Neset,” Pentawere said, clearly trying to change an uncomfortable subject.

  Tjuyu would, of course, have no idea of Pentawere’s and my relationship.

  “She’s come to Abdju at Father’s command to dedicate a stela to her grandfather.”

  “Your grandfather was close to Pharaoh?” Tjuyu inquired.

  “They fought side by side against wretches when they invaded the valley decades ago.”

  “More than fought,” Pentawere said. “Father awarded Neset’s grandfather flies of valor – three separate times.”

  “That’s unheard of,” Harwa said admiringly. “No wonder Pharaoh sent a stela.”

  “Would you like honeyed cakes and wine?” Tjuyu asked Pentawere. She’d already dismissed me as no threat to her.

  As the serving girl poured a cup Pentawere leaned close to me. “Mother sent her to Pi–Ramesses to tempt me,” he whispered.

  “I figured that out,” I whispered back. “Your mother has good taste.”

  After we ate Harwa showed us the accumulated treasures of centuries. “Pharaoh Merenptah, son of Ramesses the Great, donated this silver bowl to the temple. See – his five names are etched inside.”

  “Silver – more costly than gold,” Pentawere observed.

  Harwa sifted through objects, handing us the most interesting. “Here’s a jar with King Aha’s serek – it may be the oldest object remaining from the time of the first kings.”

  I handled it reverently. It had belonged to the husband of my ancestress Benerib. I wondered if either of them had actually used it, or if it had been a ceremonial donation.

  “There were probably more items like it,” Harwa continued. “Northerners likely stole them after they captured Abdju.”

  Tjuyu pulled hundreds of figures carved from hippo and elephant ivory out of various containers to show us – baboons, falcons, a lion – along with pottery hippos and stone hawk figurines and kneeling captives. It was an impressive display.

  We left the temple precinct to continue our tour. Tjuyu came with us, uninvited, walking possessively close to Pentawere, chattering without pause. He nodded occasionally, feigning interest. Portraying the fiction Pentawere and I had no relationship, I fell in step with Harwa. He led us towards the huge nearby mud–brick structure of King Khasekhemwy, its walls thirty–five feet high and sixteen thick at the base, enclosing a huge rectangular space. We moved into a patch of shade cast by the closest wall and were instantly cooler. In places thick mud plaster that had once completely covered the outside of the walls still remained, whitewashed, sections with traces of colorful decoration. The structure must have been magnificent when new. Closely set recesses in the external faces were topped high up with wooden lintels, much like drawings of per’aas from Narmer’s time. A low brick bench circled the base of the walls. The remains of a small chapel were visible.

  “See all these large earthenware wine jars?” Tjuyu asked.

  Thousands were piled more than waist high near the wall, partially drifted over with sand.

  “Offerings made by pilgrims to the justified king,” she said. “Many of these jars are over a thousand years old.”

  “All the early kings built structures similar to this one, on this plain,” Harwa said. “They may have been used for funeral rites or to store grave goods or for celebrations. No one knows for sure anymore. What is known is that every succeeding king tore down his predecessor’s and used the mud–brick to erect his own. Khasekhemwy was the last to build, and so his remains.”

  “He erected one quite similar at Nekhen, making him the first great builder in the land,” I said. “His son, Netjeryket, was the first king to build in stone – the Step Pyramid at Saqqara. Netjeryket was probably trying to outdo his father.”

  “Sometimes, when the wind blows hard enough and moves the sand, some of the foundations of earlier structures are revealed,” Tjuyu said. “I used to play among them when I was a girl.”

  “King Aha built three for some unknown reason,” Harwa said. “There’s a tradition that boats are buried in graves somewhere around here.”

  “And servants sacrificed to serve their masters in the Afterlife,” Tjuyu added.

  “A practice begun centuries earlier at Nekhen,” I volunteered. “King Djer executed more than three hundred servants here at Abdju when he died – or, rather, his successor did.”

  “They say Aha was buried with two pet lions,” Harwa added. “Interesting how some tales persist for centuries.” He pointed. “Again, that’s the Processional Way. Tomorrow’s procession will travel from the temple up the wadi to the low desert where Osiris’ grave lies – we call the desert Hapetnebes – ‘she who hides her lord.’ The mounds on that low rise flanking the wadi are graves of officials. One of the most prominent was a man named Djau. During the reign of the first King Pepi, officials in the South began asserting their independence. To counter them, Pepi married at least six daughters of influential governors. In fact, he built pyramids for each of them at Saqqara, near his own. Two were the daughters of Khui, an influential man from Abdju. One of them gave birth to Pepi’s successor Merenre, the other to Merenre’s half–brother and successor, the second Pepi, who ruled the valley for almost a century. Khui’s son, Djau, became the first Pepi’s vizier, and took charge of the entire valley.”

  “Father has returned to using a single vizier, To,” Pentawere told Harwa.

  “The most prominent man to come from Abdju was Weni,” Harwa said. “Would you like to visit his tomb? It’s quite interesting.”

  “Please,” I said. I tugged Pentawere’s arm, whispered in his ear. “Weni was my ancestor.”

  Pentawere gazed at the talisman.

  I nodded. He’d worn it too.

  Harwa led us to the large mastaba with an attached chapel and opened its door. It was magnificent, the inner walls covered with at least fifty columns of text. Once again I felt a strange presence.

  “Weni was born a commoner but rose high. He was a minor official under King Teti, the first Pepi’s father – a storehouse supervisor. After King Pepi took the throne Weni became his favored courtier and friend. Pepi named him overseer of his robing room and priest and judge and Sole Friend. He appointed him overseer of the tenants of the per’aa, displacing four other overseers with the same title. Weni also served King Merenre, Pepi’s son, first as chamberlain and sandal bearer, then as governor of the upper valley. Weni collected what was owed Merenre and exacted labor on his behalf. While he was serving Pepi, Weni fetched stone for the king’s sarcophagus and the pyramidion of his pyramid from a quarry south of the cataract, and brought red granite doors for him from Abu. He cut an offering table from an alabaster quarry in the Deep South. He also cut five navigable channels around the First Cataract so Pepi’s boats could use the river.”

  “Weni actually led five military campaigns on behalf of King Pepi,” I said. “The first was against tribes in Setjet who were keeping the king’s ships from landing at natural harbors.”

  Harwa nodded. “King Pepi was so happy with Weni he provided goods for Weni’s tomb.” He pointed to an inscription.

  A shiver ran up my spine. The actual words of an ancestor, speaking to me across the centuries. I read the inscription out loud.

  “When I requested from the majesty of my lord that a sarcophagus of white stone of Tura be provided for me, His Majesty had the seal–bearer of the god and a boat crew under his command cross over and bring back this sarcophagus from Tura. He brought it himself actually in a great barge of the per’aa, together with its lid, a false door, an architrave, two jambs, an
d an offering table. Never before had the like been done for any servant, for I was excellent in His Majesty ́s heart.”

  Tjuyu looked at me in surprise. “You can read, Neset?”

  “For as long as I can remember,” I replied. “You?”

  “I’ve never seen the need,” she sniffed. “That’s why we have scribes.”

  Amazing. Tjuyu thought less of me because I was literate.

  “Here’s a record of one of Weni’s campaigns,” Pentawere told us, inspecting an inscription on one of the chapel walls. He read it to us.

  “When His Majesty turned against the Shasu, His Majesty summoned an army of several tens of thousands of men from the whole of the valley. His Majesty sent me at the head of this army. I was the one in command, as the messenger of the king, overseer of peasants, because I was righteous. No one touched his comrade, no one stole a loaf or sandal from a pilgrim, no one took hold of a skirt in any city, none of them seized anyone’s goat. I led them from the Northern Island to the gate of Iihetep in the nome of Horus, the Lord of Truth. I assembled these troops, in numbers no servant of His Majesty had ever compiled. This army returned in peace, having pillaged the Shasu land. This army returned in peace, having trampled the Shasu land. This army returned in peace, having destroyed its strongholds. This army returned in peace, having cut down its figs and its grapes This army returned in peace, having set all their houses on fire. This army returned in peace, having brought hence numerous captives. His Majesty praised me for it more than anything.”

  “I know far more details about those events than Weni recorded on this wall,” I whispered to Pentawere. “I’ll tell you later. Some are relevant to our situation with your brother.”

  “Will you carve an inscription like that in your tomb, Majesty?” Tjuyu asked, taking hold of Pentawere’s arm and tracing his scar with her fingertip. “To commemorate your victory over the Shasu?”

  “I intend to have victories far more impressive than that to record, My Lady,” Pentawere replied.

  “It’s true then – the rumor you seek command of Pharaoh’s army,” Tjuyu said.

  “It is,” Pentawere replied.

  “When that day comes I’ll pray you conquer our enemies,” Tjuyu said.

  I rolled my eyes and inspected another wall. “This inscription illustrates Weni’s life.” I read:

  “I was the youth who tied the headband under King Teti, when my office was that of overseer of the storeroom, and then I became supervisor of the khenty–she of the Great House.

  I was the lector priest and elder of the per’aa under King Pepi. His Majesty promoted me to the office of companion and supervisor of priests of his pyramid town.

  His Majesty promoted me to be judge and Mouth of Nekhen, as he preferred me to any of his servants. I heard cases alone with the vizier relating to all secret matters. I acted in the king’s name for the royal harem and for the six great mansions because His Majesty preferred me to any of his officials, his nobles, or servants. When there was a legal case in secret of the royal harem against the royal wife, Weretkhetes, the ‘great of affection,’ His Majesty had me proceed to hear it on my own. No vizier or official was present apart from myself, because I was excellent, I was rooted in his heart, and his heart was full of me. I alone put it down in writing.”

  “What case is he referring to?” Pentawere asked.

  “King Pepi’s wife conspired with women in his harem to murder him,” I replied. “They failed. Pepi’s father, Teti, had been assassinated by one of his guards during a similar harem conspiracy. So Weretkhetes’ punishment was severe to dissuade other attempts.”

  Harwa had given up asking me how I knew things. “I assume she was executed; I’ve never seen any record of her fate.”

  “I can’t imagine a ruler’s wives and concubines turning against him,” Tjuyu said, aghast.

  Pentawere’s and my eyes met. Previous attempts had been made on the lives of kings by members of their families. The same situation we were facing. Except Pharaoh’s life was threatened by a son, not a wife.

  “There’s enough time to visit Seti’s temple before tonight’s banquet,” Harwa said. He led us from the chapel towards the temples along the edge of the cultivation. He pointed. “You can see Senwosret’s tomb on the terrace below the cliffs, and his temple at the edge of the floodplain, in a straight line, with Ahmose’s structures beyond them.”

  We walked to the closest temple. “Erected by Ramesses the Great,” Harwa said. We continued on. “And this is the temple of the first Seti. Begun by him and finished by his son Ramesses.”

  “It’s the most spectacular structure at Abdju,” Tjuyu said.

  Harwa led us around the tall limestone walls to a quay at the end of the temple’s harbor. Wide steps led from the quay to the temple’s entrance between a two–towered pylon. The stairs were steep; not only was the temple set on a series of ever–higher platforms, but it also topped a gentle slope.

  The temple was, admittedly, spectacular, consisting of pylons, courtyards, barque chapels for seven gods, and a hypostyle hall, its roof soaring twenty feet overhead. Every wall and column and ceiling was decorated with bright images. I was impressed most with two walls covered with images of the hundred sons and daughters of Ramesses the Great, and an image of that pharaoh subduing a wild bull. Most memorable was a wall etched with the names of kings and pharaohs.

  “Only the seventy–six legitimate rulers up to Seti’s reign are included – you won’t find any reference to the heretic Akhenaten, or any woman who seized the throne,” Harwa told us.

  “Were there? Women on the throne?” Tjuyu asked, surprised.

  “Merneith served as regent for her son, King Den, and possibly ruled in her own right,” I replied. “Tawosret was regent for her stepson, Siptah, then definitely ruled in her own name. Sobekneferu succeeded her brother, the fourth Amenemhat. Possibly the heretic’s wife, though that’s disputed. The most powerful of all was Hatshepsut, daughter of the first Thutmose and wife of the second and stepmother of the third. Though almost all trace of her was erased by her stepson.”

  “You read all this?” Tjuyu asked.

  “A little. But I know most of it because of stories handed down in my family and by the craftsmen in Ta Set Maat.”

  I paused for a moment before the wall, located the names of Aha and Den and Djer and Djet and Adjib, all ancestors. My fingers rose to the talisman. Aha’s wife, Benerib, had worn it, as had her son Den, and Djer and Adjib. I felt very close to them at this particular moment, as I had standing outside Den’s ka chapel.

  ***

  “The moon’s full tonight,” I told Pentawere after we finished banqueting with the priests and high officials who’d gathered at Abdju for the festival. And the omnipresent Tjuyu. She’d sat with Pentawere and had practically draped herself all over him during the meal. She clearly had designs on Pharaoh’s son and feared no competition from anyone. I’d sat halfway across the hall from them, among the officials who’d come north from Djeme. It had been excruciating, watching her overt attempts at seduction. Though, assuming Tiye had spies in the hall, worth it. What better way to divert attention from me than Pentawere dining with a woman Tiye had earlier sent to Pi–Ramesses as a potential wife? “Can we visit the tombs of the valley’s first kings? I’ll probably never have another chance.”

  We left town and strolled up the wide wadi that led to the cliffs at the edge of the high desert. Khasekhemwy’s mud–brick enclosure looked even more mysterious and imposing by moonlight than it had during the day. As did the plethora of stelae and cenotaphs and small shrines lining both sides of the Processional Way. I shivered. I couldn’t help wonder if spirits lurked among them.

  “I’m so sorry about Tjuyu,” Pentawere apologized.

  “She definitely knows what she wants. She’s determined to get it.”

  “At Pi–Ramesses, Tjuyu was shy when I was first introduced to her, then persistent.” He stopped, took my hands in his. “I promise, Neset.
You were the only woman I wanted to be with when she and the rest approached me. I’ve given up my old life entirely. Gladly.”

  I gazed into his eyes. “I believe you, My Love. After all, you’re walking in the moonlight with me, not her.”

  He wrapped his arms around me. “Do you realize – this is the first time we’ve been alone together without having to worry about Mother’s spies since you told me you love me?”

  “I’m acutely aware,” I said. “My Love.” I returned his kiss passionately. I’d never even let myself dream of a moment like this. I’d never expected to be in love with a man who loved me with every fiber of his being. The road to our being married was a long one, I knew, and would be difficult to travel. But, for the first time, my life had a destination, one I couldn’t wait to reach. I leaned back in Pentawere’s arms. “You should play up to Tjuyu while we’re here. Give your mother’s spies someone to report about besides me.”

  “If you think I should. But I’m not going to enjoy it.”

  “I’m sure she’ll enjoy it enough for both of you.” I laughed.

  We continued on, hand in hand. Within a quarter mile we reached the cemetery we’d visited earlier. Not far past Weni’s tomb we encountered a sandy plain dotted with hundreds of slight depressions. We clambered up the side of the wadi onto that plain.

  “The oldest of these graves date from a time when there were no pharaohs or kings in the valley, only patriarchs ruling small bands,” I said. “More recent though still very old graves belong to elites from both Abdju and Tjeni, buried here to gain the blessings of men they considered their ancestors. The grandest grave of all belongs to King Scorpion.”