“I was wise to appoint you overseer, Neset,” Pharaoh said when the tour concluded and we stood once more at the head of the path. “Your garden is magnificent.”
“Thank you, Majesty,” I said humbly. “Because of you I get to do something I love every day. I’ll always be grateful to you for the life you’ve given me.” And for allowing me to continue living that life and never reprimanding me for not confessing what my husband did, even after I knew you knew, thanks to Tiye.
Pharaoh motioned to the high priest. He and his subsidiary priests and a number of temple chantresses playing crotal bells formed a double line behind him. Vizier Neferronpet and the other officials arranged themselves next. Then the priests strolled down the wide path through the middle of the garden, censing each side with burning incense, sprinkling the path with water, chanting the proper spells to gain the blessing of the justified pharaoh.
Afterwards, Pharaoh prepared to return to his per’aa. I escorted him from the garden and through a crowd of spectators kneeling alongside the path where his chariot and those of his bodyguards were waiting in the lengthening shade of a grove of palm trees.
“How will you get back to your quarters in Djeme, Neset?” Pharaoh asked almost as an afterthought as I bid him goodbye.
“I’ll walk, Majesty. It’s not terribly far. I do it every day.”
“I see.” He stepped up onto the bed of the chariot alongside his driver, then turned. “Have you ever ridden in a chariot, Neset?”
“No, Majesty.”
“Would you like to?”
“Are you serious?”
He smiled. “Out,” he ordered the driver. Pharaoh held out his hand.
I took it eagerly and he pulled me up beside him. The bottom of the chariot was springy, made of interlaced strips of leather.
People in the crowd were staring and murmuring. A guard was beside the heads of the chariot’s two magnificent jet–black stallions, gripping their harnesses, holding them steady. One pawed at the ground restlessly and the other tossed his head and snorted.
“Don’t worry, Neset,” Ramesses said, expertly taking the reins. “I used to drive my chariot in battle and when I hunted. The scenes on the walls at Djeme show actual events. Even though they occurred long ago.”
I hoped he was being truthful. Pharaohs liked to exaggerate their prowess on walls and statues.
“One hand on the side of the chariot, one around my waist,” he ordered. “That’ll keep you steady.”
Even though I’d been kissed by Pentawere many times and slept in his arms once and had even clutched his son Ramesses during the rainstorm, that I was being allowed to touch the living god seemed incomprehensible. I took hold. I noted Pharaoh’s waist had gone to fat, so unlike Pentawere’s hard muscle.
Pharaoh slapped the reins and gave a great cry and the chariot lurched forward. I nearly fell. I spread my feet farther apart for better balance. We moved rapidly over the path alongside the canal, the horses stirring up a cloud of dust as we rolled past the memorial temples – first Siptah’s, then the second Amenhotep’s, then the Ramesseum, then the fourth Thutmose’s and the ruins of Tawosret’s and Merenptah’s, past the head of the second east–west canal and then, after a gap, the temples of Amenhotep son of Hapu and the second Thutmose and Horemheb. My hair streamed behind me and my skirt swirled about my legs and the wind brought tears to my eyes. People we encountered dropped to their knees at our passage; to me they were blurs. I thought it must be wonderful to be a pharaoh. I glanced behind us once; five more chariots from Pharaoh’s retinue were following, all trailed by plumes of dust, all struggling to keep up with us. Apparently Pharaoh loved to go fast. I was glad I was in the lead chariot and not eating dust. Almost before I knew it we’d covered most of the distance to Djeme and its surrounding wall was growing larger by the second.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Pharaoh shouted to make himself heard above the noise of hooves and wheels and wind.
“Oh, yes!” I cried. “I’ve never gone so fast in my life!”
“Fast? This isn’t fast,” Ramesses said, a gleam in his eye. “Hold on.”
He slapped the reins hard and shouted a command and the horses leapt forward. I nearly fell again, then righted myself and clung to Pharaoh more tightly. He veered hard to the right, passed to the rear of Djeme, then turned onto the dusty level desert.
High broken cliffs were to our right, and emmer fields, some green, some newly–harvested and covered with stubble, to our left. I recognized Pere’s estate in the midst of several others, where I’d spent a glorious month with Pentawere. Before long Pharaoh cried out sharply and loosened the reins and the horses leveled their noses and lengthened their strides and the chariot began to fly. Soon Malqata, the gigantic complex constructed by the third Amenhotep, appeared to our left, and to its east, beyond the ruins of its buildings, his massive sacred lake, now dry, bounded by great long mounds of dirt. We rode beside Malqata for miles, then turned slightly west around a spur of hills. Malqata disappeared behind us and we were out in the open, racing south down the valley, the ground rumbling beneath the horses’ hooves and chariot’s wheels. I tightened my hold on Pharaoh and chariot and screamed with delight. My hair flew free and my skirt whipped like a great loose sail. I stole a glance at Pharaoh and there was a look of utter joy on his face. I assumed he rarely had the chance to be so spontaneous. The thing his son Ramesses feared – being trapped in routine. We rode for miles, the horses pounding the desert, lather and clods of dirt flying, the chariot going airborne at every small irregularity in the surface, Pharaoh’s escort falling ever farther back, unable to keep pace with us, leaving town and temples far behind. Farmers working their fields stared without recognizing Pharaoh as he and I thundered past. Frightened cattle took to their heels, lumbering off across the fields, herdsmen in kilts chasing after, and barking dogs. A few women and children peered at us cautiously from the doors of scattered mud huts. Much too soon for me Pharaoh finally slowed the chariot and turned it around in a long sweeping arc. Like me, he was breathing hard and his arms and chest were drenched with sweat. Re was descending behind the western hills now and long shadows were creeping across the desert and we rode in shade. Far to the north I saw the cloud of dust that was Pharaoh’s pursuing escort. Not long afterwards we encountered those chariots. Their commander looked like he wanted to strangle Pharaoh for driving off so dangerously, and at the same time relieved that he hadn’t crashed and killed himself.
Pharaoh and I proceeded at a leisurely pace towards Djeme. We swung around the spur of hills and rumbled across the remains of a long causeway. The extensive mud–brick ruins we’d passed on our way south appeared once again.
“The third Amenhotep built Malqata to celebrate three of his Heb–Seds,” Pharaoh told me as he slowed the horses to a walk.
“The father of the heretic.”
“Who grew up here, as the fourth Amenhotep, before he took the throne and changed his name to Akhenaten. Anyway, inside Malqata are the ruins of a temple to Amen, several per’aas, administrative buildings, storerooms, officials’ houses, and villages for craftsmen and servants.”
“Like Ta Set Maat?”
“Similar idea. But integrated, not isolated. One workshop here produced glazed objects. When I was young I found some molds and faience and glass lying in the sand – I used to like to explore when Father came to Waset for holidays. See that long low mound directly east of us? Amenhotep dug a vast lake and connected it to the river – the mound was debris from the excavation. The causeway we crossed earlier extended from the lake west all the way to the edge of the cliffs.” Pharaoh began to point to the remains of walls, portions barely visible in the sand that had drifted over the site for centuries. “This rambling section was the south village, filled with many small houses. Likely the homes of craftsmen and laborers.” A bit farther on. “This was a per’aa, and to its north villas for Amenhotep’s courtiers.” Ramesses stopped his chariot soon after and a guard hurrie
d from an escorting chariot to hold his horses steady as he and I stepped down. I wobbled a bit, my legs accustomed to the motion of the chariot. Pharaoh steadied me. Then he led me into the ruins.
I stooped and picked up a shard of decorated pottery. “It’s Hathor,” I announced, though only half her face and part of her crown remained.
We encountered painted plaster fragments of various sizes scattered atop the sand as we moved steadily east, winding among the foundations. Ramesses flipped a nearly rectangular nine–inch long slab over with his foot, revealing part of a yellow star on a blue background. “Even the per’aa’s ceilings were decorated,” he explained.
A bit of color on a small patch of wind–scoured ground caught my eye and I knelt and brushed sand away with my hand, revealing part of a frescoed floor. Pharaoh summoned his guards and set them to clearing it. After considerable effort they revealed a host of birds fluttering through vegetation and waterfowl flying through papyrus thickets.
“There’s a real freshness to this,” I observed. “Everyone credits the heretic for transforming the style of what craftsmen produced. But he must have been influenced by his father.”
We reached the east end of the ruins and found a mud brick stamped The House of Amen in the House of Rejoicing.
“Amenhotep’s name for this complex,” Pharaoh said.
We climbed the mound just beyond. I looked to the east. The river shone in the distance, beginning to take on the yellow and orange and red of the evening sky, beyond the green cultivated strip and the sand–filled depression at my feet that had once been Amenhotep’s lake. I turned in a circle, sweeping my eyes over the ruins near at hand, to the high walls of Djeme in the north, to the cliffs in the west, to the desert in the south.
“Imagine you’re Amenhotep, Neset, standing at this very spot on the day of your Heb–Sed,” Pharaoh said in an almost dreamy voice. “This mound, lush with waving green grass, dotted with colorful flowers, shaded by trees, the lake sparkling at its feet, your boats moored at stone quays, glittering with gold and bright with paint, behind you your per’aa, courtyards, storerooms, stables, offices, chapels, kitchens, bakeries, gardens and pools, to the north Amen’s temple, with a huge enclosed courtyard and great columns and statues. All covered with gold and silver and copper and carved and painted, with scarlet pennants snapping in the wind.” Pharaoh sighed. “The empire was larger then, tribute seemingly endless. With it Amenhotep built well.”
“Djeme is spectacular too, Majesty,” I said. “And it’s not in ruins like this place. It’ll stand forever as a testament to your power and might.”
Pharaoh smiled. “Spoken like a true prophet, Neset!”
If he only knew. So many times I’d almost told Pharaoh about my dream, about his future murder at the hands of his son. But I’d held back every time. Why would he or anyone else believe me? Pentawere did, because I’d proven to his satisfaction that my talisman had really come from the falcon god. Because Pentawere believed me Pharaoh was now well–protected, attended constantly by Pentawere’s picked guards, including those riding the desert with us right now. Pentawere and I had decided long ago that we couldn’t accuse Ramesses of something he hadn’t yet done. Our only course of action was to catch him in the act of attempting to murder his father. But, according to family stories, the dreams given the talisman bearers always came exactly true. That implied that no matter what Pentawere and I did to try to stop him Ramesses was going to succeed in killing his father and then be executed for it. If my dream truly had come from the falcon god, neither I nor anyone else could change its outcome. Pharaoh was doomed. But, after spending a day with Ramesses and later reflecting endlessly about what I’d learned, I’d become ambivalent about the meaning of my dream. I was no longer absolutely certain it had come from the god. I was inclined to believe now that it had simply been a nightmare, unconnected to reality, not a prophecy. Which meant Pharaoh would live out his natural life and the guards wouldn’t be called upon to save him from Ramesses. So, in the end, everything would turn out as it should.
Because of my ambivalence I’d decided I wasn’t going to get involved with Kairy, either now or later, as Ramesses had suggested. If the two of them were weaving a web I wasn’t going to let myself get caught in it. If they weren’t, I had no intention of spending time with Kairy when I was still in love with Pentawere.
Night was falling. We wandered back through the ruins and stepped into Pharaoh’s chariot and he drove the short distance to Djeme at a relaxed pace. Re was behind the hills now and the desert was in shadow and a few stars already shone in the darkening eastern sky. I gloried in the chariot ride; I knew I’d never experience another. Everyone moved to the side of the lane as we rode through the gate and tunnel beneath the tower rooms into Djeme. Torches blazed to light our way. I glanced at the lower tower room and saw Tiye and Iset and Tyti watching Pharaoh and me from the window. They were furious. Tiye wasn’t the only wife who believed I’d seduced Pharaoh to gain my position. This chariot ride was going to heap fuel on that fire.
Pharaoh halted the chariot at the foot of the tower stairs. Groomsmen took charge of horses and vehicle. Pharaoh helped me down.
“That was the most exciting thing I’ve ever done,” I said, looking up at him, still a little breathless. “Thank you, Majesty.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve driven,” he said. “Guess the Heb–Sed really did rejuvenate me. And now, you’ll join my wives and me for dinner.”
The worst thing he could have suggested. A command, not an offer. I couldn’t refuse. We ate a simple meal, by torchlight, in the tower room, cooled by the evening breeze. A small group of softly–playing female musicians dressed only in white skirts serenaded us. All three wives treated me coldly and with disdain, though a few times when I looked up from my plate I caught Tiye staring thoughtfully at me. Pharaoh either didn’t notice his wives’ hostility or didn’t care. He described his newest garden to the women enthusiastically; Iset and Tyti at least pretended to be interested. After the meal Pharaoh and I moved to a small table beside the window overlooking the forecourt garden and played Senet. The wives eventually returned to the harem. I noted again the drawing on the wall of Pharaoh playing the game with one of his concubines – Heket, I recalled Pentawere telling me once, the only one of Pharaoh’s concubines I knew. At least Pharaoh let me keep my clothes on.
“How fares your son, Ramesses, Majesty?” I inquired as I moved a pawn to the House of Rebirth. He’d departed Djeme soon after our visit to his brothers’ tombs. That was good – he couldn’t assassinate Pharaoh if he was in the North, if that truly was his intention. I really wanted to ask Pharaoh about Pentawere and his new wife, if he was content, but I dared not mention him. Besides, knowing Pentawere had adjusted to a new life with Naqi’a would be too painful.
“I sent him on a small jaunt into the western desert,” Pharaoh said. “Just Re’s Division and the cavalry. A show of force to remind the Tjehenuians to behave themselves. And a chance to give my grandson Amenherkoshef a taste of military action.” Pharaoh threw his sticks. “Ramesses told me you accompanied him to Ta Set Neferu during the Beautiful Feast of the Valley.”
“My father carved your sons’ tombs,” I said. “His Majesty didn’t know where they were exactly. I did.”
“His wife, my daughter Duatentopet, was not pleased when she found out,” Pharaoh said. “A woman like you is a temptation for any man, married or not.”
“Majesty!” I exclaimed. “I’d never… Besides, his chariot driver Kairy was with us the whole time.” Now I was grateful he had been. He could defend Ramesses and me from a scurrilous rumor. Unless he was the one who’d told Duatentopet about our adventure. It didn’t make sense he’d try to drive a wedge between Ramesses and his wife, though, especially if he was as close to Ramesses as it seemed. Maybe he’d told Duatentopet to make her angry at me, his way of getting back at me for not taking Ramesses up on his offer to spend time with him. Maybe he was trying to make
all the royal women angry at me for another reason. Maybe he and Ramesses were somehow going to use me in their assassination plot.
“I know you don’t have designs on my son, Neset,” Pharaoh chuckled, eyeing me sideways as he moved his pawn. “At least, not that one.”
He’d known about Pentawere and me since the night of Pentawere’s marriage but hadn’t mentioned it until now. My cheeks were instantly burning. I was suddenly very uncomfortable.
“Pentawere defied me when I ordered him to marry, for your sake,” Pharaoh said calmly. “Or, at least tried to. I married him to Naqi’a right away to nip his rebellion in the bud.” He handed me the throw sticks.
“I told Pentawere many times he’d have to obey you, Majesty,” I said. “I never expected to be his wife.”
“Tiye thought otherwise. She pressed me constantly for more than a year and a half to find him a suitable match. When Pentawere confessed that he loved you I finally knew why she’d been badgering me. Tiye wanted to keep the two of you apart.”
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 48
