“How do you know about these plants?” he queried. “Pharaoh ruled many centuries ago.”
“He recorded them on the walls of Akh–Menou.”
“You read, My Lady?” He sounded surprised.
“Yes. Don’t you?”
“A soldier has no need.”
How backwards. “It doesn’t bother you that you can’t read the inscriptions on the walls of this temple that you guard?”
“Not in the least.”
I couldn’t imagine willingly living in ignorance. “You aspire to nothing higher than the army?”
“My father’s a charioteer in Pharaoh’s army,” he said proudly. “So are three of my older brothers. Someday I’ll be too. To be promoted beyond temple guard into the chariot corps – that’s my only ambition.” His hand fell to the hilt of his dagger. “To achieve it I must be able to fight well – not read.”
I pulled a small piece off the bread and put it in my mouth. How different we were. Bunakhtef wanted to kill people. I wanted to grow plants. But we were alike in one thing – we had simple ambitions and simple lives.
“Will you ever return to Ta Set Maat, My Lady?” Bunakhtef asked.
“No.” I eyed him as I swallowed another bite of onion. “How do you know I come from the village?”
He laughed. “Everyone on the west bank knows about you, My Lady – about your dead husband, that you have the favor of Pharaoh – and Pharaoh’s son.”
I felt the color rising in my cheeks. Sometimes it felt like the whole world knew about me and Pentawere. And if everyone knew, how could Pharaoh not? “What about you, Bunakhtef?” I asked, to divert attention from myself. “Have you always been a soldier?”
“Yes.”
“Are you from Waset?”
“Nekhen. My mother still lives there.”
“My ancestors lived in Nekhen a very long time ago.”
“Perhaps ours knew each other, My Lady.”
“Do you have a wife, Bunakhtef?”
He smiled. “Not yet. But soon, perhaps.” He looked into my eyes. “It’s not good to be alone, don’t you think?”
I let my gaze sweep over the distant river. My thoughts drifted to Pentawere, to the deep empty place within my heart that longed for him. “No, it’s not,” I whispered.
***
My garden methodically took shape in the months that followed. Except for the week I lay Grandfather to rest in his tomb, I spent the majority of my time working on it, leaving the other overseers to attend to their own areas of responsibility independently. Whenever I was at the garden Bunakhtef was practically my shadow. At first he brought me water or food or wine as I worked. Then he began offering to assist with the countless tasks that had to be done on the site. Soon I began to regularly encounter him not only as I worked at the temple but at many festivals and celebrations on the west bank. He clearly desired me and before long was actively courting me. And he wasn’t the only one, just the most persistent. After all, Pentawere’s many gifts had made me a wealthy woman, a fact that was well–known in Waset. I was never sure if the men who approached me – craftsmen, priests, royal officials – were more interested in me or my jewels. But after what had happened with my husband I had no interest in being married to anyone except Pentawere. No man could ever compete with him and the hold he had on my heart. Considerable distance and many months apart had not diminished my love for him. I tried to gently dissuade Bunakhtef. He was a fine man, I told him, which he was, but I liked my life the way it was and had no interest in marriage. He smiled and said he loved me with all his heart and told me he wasn’t giving up and he’d wear me down and someday I’d realize we were meant to be together. He continued to court me relentlessly.
He stepped into my path from a cluster of palm trees at twilight one evening as I was walking home alongside the canal after leaving Thutmose’s temple. I cried out, startled. Re had just disappeared behind the western hills and stars were winking into the sky and the crescent moon was rising in the east. I jumped back, recognized him. “Bunakhtef… you scared me.”
“We need to talk, Neset.”
He hadn’t called me “My Lady.” For the first time ever. “About?” I asked warily.
“I’m tired of waiting,” he said firmly, closing the space between us. “You’ve put me off for too many months already. I love you, Neset. It’s time for us to marry. I have to have you.” His eyes scanned my body hungrily. “Come home with me tonight. Be my wife.”
My heart sank. I’d tried my best to avoid being put in this position. Now I had to reject him. “You’re a good man, Bunakhtef. I like you. You’ve been very kind to me, and helpful. But I don’t love you.”
“Be my wife. Love will come in time,” he argued.
“I had a husband for many years. I can attest it doesn’t.”
“Let me take care of you, Neset. I can make you happy.” He was pleading now.
“Please, Bunakhtef. I’m not marrying you,” I said firmly.
He stiffened. His eyes became menacing. “You think you’re too good for me?” he asked, his temper flaring.
“No. Not at all.”
“You look down on me? You? Pentawere’s whore?” he snapped, his voice rising.
His true colors revealed. “I’m not,” I answered as calmly as I could. I started to push past him.
He grabbed my upper arm.
I tried to jerk free. “You’re hurting me!”
He didn’t let go. “What do you call it, sleeping with him every chance you get?”
The rumor. False. Widespread.
“Everyone in this valley knows what you are, Neset.” He leaned so close I could feel his breath hot on my face. “He’ll take a royal wife. He’ll never marry you. I’m the best you can hope for.”
Little did Bunakhtef know how wrong he was. But my relationship with Pentawere was none of his business. I tried to jerk free again. He tightened his grip. I was furious with him for what he thought of me. “Let me go!”
He suddenly grabbed my waist with both hands, pulled me close, attempted a kiss.
I turned my face away and tried to twist from his grasp.
He locked an arm around my waist and pulled me to him and grabbed my long hair with his free hand and forced my lips against his. He kissed me, hard.
I struggled, flailed at his back with my fists.
He broke our kiss and laughed at me.
My right hand grazed the handle of the dagger tucked in his belt. I pulled it free. “Let me go,” I panted.
He laughed again and bent to kiss me.
I flicked the end of the dagger across his left cheek, a shallow cut from his chin to just below his eye.
He cried out in surprise and released me.
I broke away, crouched, held the dagger in front of me, pointed it at him. “Leave me alone!” I gasped. “I’ll report you to Pharaoh!”
Bunakhtef pressed a hand against his bloody cheek, eyes blazing, furious. He moved closer, towered over me. “You’re going to pay for this, Whore!” he shouted. “Right now!” He raised his hand to hit me.
“Step back!” A man materialized from the shadows a little to my right, the knife in his hand low and extended, his voice commanding.
“Not your concern!” Bunakhtef sputtered.
“I won’t warn you again.”
I recognized the man. Kairy. Chariot driver for the fourth Ramesses. We’d met in Pi–Ramesses, in Pentawere’s chariot workshop.
“Be on your way!” Bunakhtef ordered, balling his hands into fists.
Kairy hurled himself at Bunakhtef, launched his forearm into Bunakhtef’s chest.
Bunakhtef staggered backwards.
Kairy recovered his own balance, inserted himself between Bunakhtef and me, body coiled for another lunge.
“I don’t need your help!” I snapped from behind Kairy, irritated. Bad enough Bunakhtef was acting like an idiot. He was doing it in front of a witness. News of this incident would likely spread across the w
est bank. Another wild rumor about me to combat. “I’ve got this under control.”
“No doubt.” Kairy kept his attention on Bunakhtef, still half–crouching, tense.
“Go home, Bunakhtef!” I ordered. “If I catch you lurking again I’ll report you to Pharaoh. You know he’ll take my part. You’ll spend the rest of your life breaking rocks in a quarry.”
Bunakhtef stared at me for a long moment over Kairy’s shoulder. Then he cursed. He pointed at Kairy. “You’ll pay for this!” Then at me. “You, too! Whore!” He spat at my feet, then melted into the gathering darkness.
“Did he hurt you, My Lady?” Kairy asked, turning and facing me, simultaneously sheathing his knife.
“No. Maybe a bruise or two by morning.” I rubbed my arm gingerly.
“It was generous of you not to march him straight to Pharaoh, My Lady. Say the word and I’ll report him to his superior to deal with. What’s his name? Bunakhtef?”
“That’s not necessary. He’ll have a scar to remind him of what he tried to do to me for the rest of his life. That’s punishment enough.” I stepped closer. “Do you recognize me, Kairy?”
“Yes, My Lady. We met at Pi–Ramesses. You were with Pharaoh’s son.” He paused. “I’m surprised you remember my name.”
“Probably because I saw you driving His Majesty’s chariot the next day during the triumph.”
“Usually people notice His Majesty, not me,” Kairy said self–deprecatingly.
It suddenly occurred to me that no man in the valley was closer to the co–ruler than Kairy. If he drove Ramesses in war and peace and ate at his nightly campfire on campaign he must be his confidant. If Ramesses was planning to kill Pharaoh, Kairy was likely his co–conspirator. And thus my enemy.
“What brought you to Thutmose’s temple tonight, Kairy?” I asked, suddenly suspicious. Had he been spying on me? What else could explain such an opportune arrival? My relationship with Pentawere was widely known on the west bank. Did the plot to kill Pharaoh extend to Pentawere too? Was Ramesses having me watched for some reason by a man he trusted, a man who was completely devoted to him?
“I’m running an errand for His Majesty’s son,” Kairy replied. “We just arrived from Pi–Ramesses a couple of days ago.”
An errand. Vague. Could mean almost anything. Including following me. Was the “son” he was referring to the fourth Ramesses, or his son Amenherkoshef? I remembered Pentawere mentioning Kairy’s role at Pi–Ramesses to me. “You’re teaching Amenherkoshef to be a soldier.”
He seemed surprised I knew, but was too polite to ask how. “His Majesty has assigned me that task.”
I wasn’t going to waste this chance to feel Kairy out about Pentawere. Maybe he’d let something useful slip to give me an idea of what he and Ramesses were up to. “Do you consider His Majesty’s half–brother to be a good soldier, Kairy?”
“Why do you ask?” Now he sounded suspicious.
“We’re acquainted, as you know. I’m aware his heart’s desire is to command the army.”
Kairy took his time replying. “My Lady, I serve Pharaoh and his son and his grandson. It’s not appropriate for someone like me to express an opinion about a royal. My duty is to obey royal commands without discussion or hesitation. I will say this – His Majesty’s brother believes in himself and his abilities. Such belief is contagious. It inspires loyalty in soldiers.”
Actually, a fairly positive assessment. “Well, I won’t keep you from your errand any longer, Kairy.”
“Would you like me to see you home, My Lady? In case Bunakhtef didn’t fully understand your message?”
I had no desire to become even more beholden to Kairy than I already was. “I can get home just fine. I have Bunakhtef’s knife.”
“And clearly know how to use it.” Kairy laughed lightly. “Good night, My Lady.” He bowed, then continued on his way without looking back.
I struck off in the opposite direction. Halfway home I realized I hadn’t thanked Kairy for intervening. And that he hadn’t asked for any reward for stepping in to “save” me – like a kiss or two, or something more. Or insisted on seeing me home. Or treated me familiarly because of our encounter in Pi–Ramesses. Or complimented me on my appearance. Or told me he’d like to see me again. Or scoffed at my claim I could defend myself. That was most unusual for a man, in my experience.
Or maybe he hadn’t done any of those things because of who I was. Maybe he’d been feigning disinterest so I’d think he’d simply happened upon me. Maybe he had been spying on me for the fourth Ramesses. Maybe I should have cut him with the knife instead of Bunakhtef.
***
Shemu (Harvest)
Neset
***
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” the priest asked me sharply, blocking me and my three young companions from passing through the pylon gateway into the courtyard of Amen’s temple inside Ipet–Isut. He held a flaming torch in his hand. Re hadn’t yet broken the horizon.
His head was shaved and he was wearing a white linen kilt. A minor priest, and young. Over his shoulder I glimpsed Amen’s temple, the oldest building in Ipet–Isut. Ipet–Isut was dedicated to three of the valley’s most important gods – Amen, his wife Mut, and their son Khonsu. Each had an individual temple within this jumble of carved and painted and gilded structures, and Amen’s was chief among them.
“I’m Neset, overseer of His Majesty’s gardens,” I said crisply. I showed him my staff of office. “I’m bringing flowers to decorate Amen’s barque for the Beautiful Feast.”
The priest dipped his torch and by its light examined me and the three girls attending me, Beketaten and Wabkhet and Nauny, Hay’s great–granddaughters, cousins from Ta Set Maat, aged thirteen and twelve and eleven respectively. They were going to help me decorate shrines and temples and statues today for the first time. They were carrying reed baskets laden with garlands and bouquets and wreaths and bunches of loose flowers. The Beautiful Feast of the Valley, celebrated each year during harvest, honored Hathor of the West, protector of the realm of the dead. The festival was, in a sense, a family reunion of the living and dead in this part of the valley. Very shortly, a multitude of priests would transport the statues of the three gods across the river to visit the Osiris–pharaohs’ temples of millions of years located on the west bank, a tradition begun by the female pharaoh Hatshepsut. My experienced girls were currently placing flowers in those temples.
“Hmph. No one told me. Give them to me.”
“I usually place them myself.”
“Not this time.” He stuck the end of his torch into the ground and held out both hands.
“As you wish.” I stifled a laugh. The priest had obviously never celebrated this festival before. He had no idea how many flowers were required to properly decorate Amen’s barque and statue. I took a dozen garlands and wreaths and bouquets and loose flowers from each girl and stacked them atop his outstretched arms.
“That’s it,” I said.
“Wait here,” he said brusquely, then turned and walked with halting steps towards the torchlit court in front of the temple, barely able to see over the topmost flowers on the pile, trying to keep his balance and not drop them.
“It’ll be a while before the procession starts,” I told the girls. “We might as well get comfortable.”
They carefully set their baskets on the ground at the base of the pylon. We settled down to wait, our bare backs pressed against the cool stone.
“When I was your age,” I told them, “I used to wake up very early on the first day of the Beautiful Feast and follow the path from Ta Set Maat towards the Great Place at this exact time of day. By the time Re rose I’d be perched atop the western cliffs overlooking Hatshepsut’s temple. I’d watch the gods’ boats as oarsmen rowed them from Ipet–Isut’s quay straight across the river, the gold on their decks glinting in the sunlight, pennants flying, incense rising. One time, while I was waiting, I scratched my name on a boulder before I descended the nar
row path to join the musicians and dancers and singers and farmers and servants and craftsmen spread along the west bank canal to watch the rituals at the temples. I can hardly believe that today I’m going to cross the river on one of those very vessels.”
“It’ll be our first time too, Overseer,” piped up Nauny, the youngest cousin.
I’d conspired with Hay to add these specific girls to my entourage. All were at an awkward age – no longer children, not yet married. All were in a kind of limbo, waiting for their fathers to arrange suitable matches – likely with a cousin or uncle. They’d been among my favorites when I lived in Ta Set Maat. I hoped to put them in positions from which they could have a say in their own fates, not have one thrust upon them as had happened to me.
“Hopefully not your last, Nauny. And call me Neset, all three of you. We’re from the same village. We grew up on the same street. I helped your mothers bring you into the world. You all used to sit on my roof and listen to my stories.”
“We’ve never been inside Ipet–Isut before,” volunteered Beketaten, the oldest.
“I’ve visited hundreds of times,” I told them. “I used to follow my grandfather around when he brought flowers and tended gardens.”
“You must know all about it,” said Wabkhet.
“I do. How about if I tell you, like Grandfather told me?”
They all nodded eagerly.
“Let’s start with the pylon we’re leaning against.”
It soared high over our heads.
“The towers on either side of the gate represent Isis and Nephthys. When the sun rises over the gate every morning the pylon bears witness to the daily resurrection of Osiris as Re. Now, this particular pylon is very special. It was erected by the third Thutmose almost three centuries ago. He was the mightiest pharaoh the world’s ever seen.”
“I’ve always heard Ramesses the Great was the mightiest,” Nauny said.
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 40
