The Gardener and the Assassin

by Mark Gajewski

  The royal family and I embarked once more on the Merit–Amen to return the gods to Ipet–Isut, retracing our journey in reverse on the west bank canals and river. By an hour after moonrise the gods were safely asleep in their sanctuaries, awaiting the next feast day, and the royals and I were on our way back to Djeme.

  ***

  Shemu (Harvest)

  Pentawere

  ***

  Father summoned me to his room in the per’aa shortly after we returned to Djeme from putting the gods to bed in Ipet–Isut. His order was unexpected; the first of many nightly banquets that were part of the Beautiful Feast of the Valley was about to commence in his audience hall. I planned to make a token appearance, then quickly slip away and spend the night with Neset. I’d been anticipating our reunion ever since I’d boarded my boat in Pi–Ramesses weeks ago to make the journey south. Watching her today from a distance had been agony. I’d missed her every minute of every day since our parting at Abdju. I’d toyed often with the idea of sending her a message by a trusted courier, to tell her how much I missed her and desired her, but I hadn’t, out of fear Mother would intercept it as she had my earlier letters. She’d make sure Neset was stripped of her position as overseer of Father’s gardens and exile her someplace I’d never find her – or worse. So I’d bided my time. But I was done waiting.

  To my surprise, Mother was seated beside Father. Both were drinking wine. I took the vacant seat facing them; a girl filled a cup and gave it to me. She departed at a wave of Father’s hand.

  “Time to discuss your future, Pentawere,” Father said.

  I stiffened. I already knew the future planned for me. Continue overseeing the military facilities at Pi–Ramesses for now, and eventually serve the priest in charge of Ramesses’ quarrying expeditions. Degrading. This wasn’t going to be a discussion – Father was merely going to confirm what he and Ramesses had already arranged. Years worth of pent–up frustration boiled over. “Future? You know what I want, Father. I’ve been telling you since I was old enough to lift a wooden sword. To command your army. But you won’t let me. Instead, you’ve put my nephew in charge of your cavalry. An inexperienced boy!”

  Father snorted. “Why do you insist on wasting your life as a soldier, Pentawere?”

  “Waste?” He was trivializing what I wanted most. “Who recovered your stolen wine from the Shasu, Father? Who sent you Shasu slaves? Who sent you the penises of Shasu dead? Who made sure your cavalry was fit to fight in the first place after my brother’s death? If not for me they’d still be a disorganized rabble.”

  “You’re most suited to manage the military installations at Pi–Ramesses, Pentawere. Not for fighting.”

  “That’s not fair!” I practically exploded. “Every one of my brothers has or had an important post in this valley. Except me. I’ve told you over and over for years I want to be a soldier. It’s all I care about. You know I can do the job. I’ve proven myself. Let me wield your army against your enemies! Let me rebuild your empire, Father, like in the days of Thutmose and Ramesses the Great!”

  “Empire!” Father scoffed. “Those days are long dead and gone, Son. The treasury can’t support an army of conquest, much less one of occupation. We have a multitude of enemies in the world now, not just a few like those pharaohs had, and much more powerful.”

  “If you need resources strip estates from the temples and priests!” I cried. “You’ll be able to support a dozen armies!”

  “If I tried the priests would combine and rise up against me and put a high priest on my throne,” Father said evenly. “The pharaohs who ruled before me gave them too much of the valley. They’re too powerful to challenge now. It’s too late to fix my predecessors’ mistakes.”

  “So you’re content to huddle in this valley for the rest of your reign, waiting for barbarian kings bent on conquest to attack us? To fight on defense, not offense? On our soil?” I asked disgustedly.

  Father shrugged. “That’s reality.”

  “I don’t accept that.” Our discussion was not going well at all. I stood, began pacing back and forth. “By the gods, Father – the third Thutmose was under Hatshepsut’s thumb for fifteen years before he could freely wield his army. The day she died he went on campaign and never stopped the rest of his reign. We should be bold, like him. Let me wield your army, Father. Booty and tribute will refill your treasury and reset the balance of power between you and the priests.”

  “I’ve made my decision,” Father said firmly. “It’s final. You’re not going to be a soldier. But you are going to help strengthen my position, and your brother’s.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked warily. I plopped down in my chair.

  “I’ve arranged your marriage.”

  “Finally!” Mother exclaimed gleefully, clapping her hands together.

  I wanted to be sick. Marriage? With a stranger? Or more likely one of the women Mother had tempted me with these past years at Pi–Ramesses. The daughter of a wealthy official – maybe Hui or Kensuw or Nedjemib. Or a priest. Was he going to try to use me to put them in their place? It struck me – Father was going to marry me to Tjuyu, daughter of Osiris’ high priest Harwa. A dull illiterate vacant–headed girl. Was that the reason Father had sent me to Abdju to dedicate his wall, to expose me to Harwa and gain his approval for my marriage? I’d dreaded this day for years. I had a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The instant Neset found out would be the end of us. She’d never agree to be my second wife, especially not if the first was Tjuyu. Father was going to ruin both our lives. Mother was clearly lined up behind him, even though she’d apparently just learned of it. I had to talk him out of it.

  “Her name is Naqi’a,” Father said.

  A stunning surprise. “A wretch? You’re marrying me to a wretch?”

  “Her father is the king of Assyria. Ashur–dan. He’s held his throne for two decades. He’s a warrior – he recently poached the remnants of the Hatti kingdom after the Kaska captured its capital, Hattusa. It’s a good match, Pentawere. Her entourage numbers in the hundreds. You’ll have to establish a harem for them at Pi–Ramesses. Tiye can help. Or maybe you should just send them to mine in the Fayum instead. Plenty of work for them there.”

  I stood, began pacing again. I had to talk him out of it. “I can’t marry your Assyrian wretch, Father. I’m in love. With a woman who’s one of us.”

  Mother glared at me. She knew I was referring to Neset.

  “You? In love?” Father shook his head and laughed.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the problem? Make her your second wife,” Father said dismissively. “Just wait a year or so. Until after you put your heir in Naqi’a’s belly.”

  “She won’t tolerate another wife,” I said.

  “She’ll learn,” Mother said knowingly.

  “She’s adamant she won’t.”

  “Who is this stubborn woman? A daughter of one of my officials at Pi–Ramesses?” Father asked.

  No sense hiding it anymore. “Neset,” I said defiantly.

  “I warned her what would happen if she tried to seduce you into marriage!” Mother raged.

  “Don’t you dare attack Neset, Mother. I’ve been pursuing her for years. Not the other way around.”

  “That’s what she made you think. No–good wife of a tomb robber!” Mother crossed her arms defiantly.

  There it was. Mother had done it. Ruined Neset. For no good reason.

  “A what?” Father exclaimed.

  “Her husband was caught robbing Ramesses the Great’s tomb,” Mother reported. “Everyone in Ta Set Maat believes Neset was involved. But she escaped justice.”

  Father let out a great breath and sank back in his chair. He looked stunned.

  “Neset didn’t escape anything except a brutal lying husband,” I said defensively. “Father, I was in charge of the Great Kenbet that tried the thieves. I personally questioned Neset during the trial. I determined she was innocent of any crime. I sentenced her h
usband and six others to death and watched their lifeblood drain from their bodies. I didn’t even see Neset again until more than two years later, in your garden in Pi–Ramesses.”

  “Does Neset love you?”

  “In spite of me executing her husband? She does, Father.”

  “Being apart from you is why she’s been so unhappy since she returned from Abdju.”

  “How would you know whether Neset’s happy or not?” Mother queried, frowning.

  “We talk while she’s watering my plants in the morning. Have for years.”

  “And kept it secret from me?” Mother was incensed.

  “Anyone out and about in Djeme at that time of day has seen us, Wife. It’s no secret.”

  “First you invite her into the tower room. Then to Pi–Ramesses. Then to Mennefer. Now this. What everyone must think of me!” she exclaimed. “Second to a gardener! I want it to stop, Husband! Immediately!”

  Neset had been correct. Mother’s hatred for her was born of jealousy. It didn’t really have anything to do with me.

  “No,” Father said evenly. He tried to grasp Mother’s hand. She jerked it away.

  “Don’t you think I would’ve added Neset to my harem years ago if I thought of her that way?” Father asked.

  “I know you, Ramesses. You’ll make her your wife some day,” Mother charged.

  “Keep on this way and I will!” he said irritably.

  Things were getting out of hand. Their issues were theirs to deal with, not mine. “I’ve been miserable too, Father, separated from Neset,” I interjected. “But you wouldn’t know. You’ve exiled me to Pi–Ramesses.”

  “Where you’ll continue to serve me. It’s better that way. Once you’re married Neset will have to move on and forget about you.”

  “I’ll convince her to marry me even if I have to marry a wretch first,” I insisted. “Somehow.”

  “I forbid it!” Father commanded.

  I was taken aback. “But you said I can take multiple wives.”

  “Anyone but Neset.”

  “Why?” I threw my arms wide, frustrated.

  “Neset’s far too good for you.”

  I snorted. “Mother’s right! You do want her for yourself, Father. That’s the real reason, isn’t it?”

  “Let Pentawere have her, Ramesses. Prove you don’t want her,” Mother interjected hotly. So, she’d suddenly come over to my side. Not because she wanted me to marry Neset, but because she didn’t want Father to have her.

  Father’s face turned beet red. “You’re going to marry Naqi’a and return to Pi–Ramesses and resume your duties, Pentawere,” he snarled angrily. “You’re not going to marry Neset. No more discussion. From either of you. You are both dismissed.”

  I hated Father in that instant more than I’d hated anyone ever. Denied Neset and command of the army. Neither for a good reason. Plus, forced to marry a wretch. I picked up my cup of wine and hurled it against the wall as hard as I could. It shattered into a hundred pieces, stained the painted images, splattered half the room. I spun on my heel without bowing and stomped out. Father might have a plan for me but I refused to accept it. I wasn’t going to marry his wretch or run his military base for him anymore. An hour from now I’d be with Neset. Two hours from now we’d be on a boat headed somewhere Father would never find us.

  ***

  The banquet hall was crowded and noisy when I slipped into my seat in the row being slowly filled by the rest of my family at the front of the hall. I’d arrived promptly. Now that I’d decided to rebel I didn’t want to give Father reason to suspect I was going to. I’d participate in the festivities tonight as always, talk cheerfully to whoever approached, eat and drink my fill. And as soon as the dancing girls appeared and drew Father’s full attention I’d slip away and hurry to Neset and take her away to freedom.

  The banquet was interminable. Girl after girl passed my table bearing platters overflowing with food and jars brimming with wine. For once I merely sipped at my cup. Tonight I needed to be clear–headed. Mother sat stiffly at Father’s side, neither looking at nor speaking to him. He’d obviously failed to convince her he wasn’t interested in Neset. I wasn’t so sure about that either anymore. Otherwise, why forbid me to marry her? At least he hadn’t threatened to take Neset’s position away because of her husband. Not that her position mattered anymore. The only garden she’d tend from now on would be ours, wherever we settled. Probably outside the valley. I was too well known to hide from Father anywhere along the river. Either Setjet or Retenu, or perhaps an oasis in the western desert. Father didn’t care that Mother was ignoring him. He was chatting and laughing with his own wretched concubines. So far, no new concubines had shunted the four aside.

  Finally I saw the dancing girls assembling at the side of the hall, preparing to perform. I finished my wine, ready to slip away the moment they rushed into the open space in front of Father.

  He caught my eye and beckoned me to him. What now? I moved to his side.

  “I hope you don’t think you’re going to wriggle off my hook,” he said, looking up at me.

  He’d guessed my intention. For all the good it was going to do him.

  He stood and raised his hands.

  Everyone in the hall quieted.

  “Tonight, the first of the Beautiful Feast of the Valley, I have a special announcement. My son, Pentawere, is going to marry Naqi’a, daughter of Ashur–dan, King of Assyria. Their marriage will tie our two lands together.”

  For a moment, dead silence. Then murmurs from hundreds of voices, and wondering looks.

  I endured them. Father’s announcing my future marriage publicly tonight wasn’t going to change my plan. I was still going to flee as soon as the dancers began performing. But when I couldn’t be found in the morning everyone who’d been in this hall would know why. They’d know I’d defied Pharaoh.

  Father signaled.

  A young girl emerged from the midst of a dozen women standing at the side of the hall. I hadn’t noticed them. I cursed under my breath. Naqi’a. Father wasn’t just announcing my marriage tonight – it was actually about to take place. I never should have come to this banquet. I should have run straight to Neset from Father’s room. We would have been miles from Waset by now.

  Naqi’a slipped from among the women reluctantly. I assumed they were her highest–ranking retainers, a few of the hundreds Father had mentioned. I guessed her to be about fourteen, a decade younger than me, dark haired, slim, pretty. I couldn’t tell the color of her eyes; they were focused firmly on the ground in front of her. She was dressed as befit a king’s daughter, ornamented with a considerable amount of jewelry, her clothing of the finest linen but the style unlike any seen in the valley. Shyly, frightened, she crossed the open space to Father, then fell to her knees and bent and kissed the floor in front of his feet.

  This couldn’t be happening. Father had outplayed me. In a game with stakes all too high.

  “Rise, Naqi’a,” Father said gently.

  She didn’t react. Great. She didn’t understand our language.

  Father bent and took hold of her shoulders and raised her to her feet. He placed her hand in mine. “This is your husband, Pentawere.”

  She figured out that part because she’d known why she was in the hall. She blushed. She didn’t look at me. Her hand trembled.

  I felt sorry for her. I felt sorrier for me.

  “Turn her to face the crowd,” Father told me.

  I did.

  Her hand was still in mine. Clammy. Small.

  “All hail Pentawere and his bride!” Father’s chamberlain called.

  “Hail Pentawere! Hail Naqi’a!” resounded over and over. The hall echoed for several minutes with sustained cheers.

  Numb, hiding my fury, I led Naqi’a to the empty chair next to mine and seated her. I grabbed a full cup of wine from my half–brother Setherkopshef’s adjacent table and rapidly drank it down. I called for it to be refilled.

  Father smiled at me. A
superior condescending smile. A smile of victory.

  The celebration resumed. The dancing girls began their acrobatic gyrations directly in front of Father. The men in the room pressed towards the front to see better. The women stared at Naqi’a and me, some curious about her, some disappointed their chance to be my first bride had passed.

  I ran my hand through my hair, tried to think. Father’s move had been brilliant. He’d set a trap and I’d fallen into it and it had snapped shut on me. I watched him for a moment, clapping along to the music, cheering on the dancing girls. I’d rarely seen him as happy. Why not? He’d won a glorious victory and put both Mother and me in our places. I pictured Neset in my mind’s eye, anxiously waiting for me right now in her hut, not suspecting our lives had just radically changed. Somehow, I had to escape Father’s trap. I glanced at my bride. She looked terrified. I pitied her. The only question was which of us didn’t want to be married to the other more. “Do you speak my language?”

  Naqi’a stared at me blankly.

  I shook my head, disgusted. I signaled her retainers, made the motion of talking. One looked at the others uncertainly, then came towards my table, circling the dancing girls and dodging the crowd. She was perhaps sixteen. Had Ashur–dan emptied his kingdom of children?

  “Do you speak my tongue?” I asked far more harshly than I’d intended.

  She quailed before me. “Yes, Majesty.”

  Accented, but understandable. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry at you. Your name?”

  “Abi–rami, Majesty.”

  “You will teach my wife to speak properly, Abi–rami, beginning in the morning.”

  “Understood, Majesty.”

  “Now, take her to my room and prepare her.”