The Gardener and the Assassin

by Mark Gajewski

  “Which is why Pentawere told me, to expand the web of protection,” Tiye said. “So much riding on a single dream, Neset.”

  “Not a single dream, Majesty. I’ve dreamed it every night since Pharaoh granted me this estate. It’s never varied in a single detail.”

  “Never heard of that before, and I’ve talked to plenty of magicians about dreams and their meaning.”

  “Have you talked to anyone about mine?” I asked with trepidation. If my dream had spread and was traced back to me who knew what Ramesses might do to me?

  “Of course not, Neset. Your dream is far too important for anyone but Pentawere and me to know about. Anyway, its meaning is quite clear. Pentawere will be Pharaoh.”

  “Yes. We realized that too, Majesty. Either we’ll fail to save Pharaoh from Ramesses, in which case Ramesses will be executed, or Pentawere will save Pharaoh, in which case Ramesses will be executed for trying and Pharaoh will name Pentawere his heir.”

  “In your dream, Neset, Ramesses kills my husband. Pentawere told me you said dreams sent by your god always come true exactly. Does that mean there’s no chance we’ll save Pharaoh?”

  “Frankly, I don’t know, Majesty. Believe me, I’ve pondered that often enough. No talisman bearer has ever changed the outcome of a dream. But maybe an outsider can. I don’t know if any talisman bearer ever told anyone about their dream before it came true. So maybe we can save Pharaoh.”

  Tiye nodded. “If Ramesses does kill Pharaoh despite our attempt to protect him you’ll play an important role in his trial. You’ll have to tell the Great Kenbet about your dream. Pentawere and I will testify you told us about it long in advance. We’ll tell about the steps we took to try to prevent my husband’s assassination – Pentawere replacing his guards, me with my spies in the per’aa. Clearly, the gods sent you not just to warn Pentawere and me, Neset, but to make sure Ramesses receives justice and maat is restored in the land.”

  I’d never looked at my role that way. Tiye was wiser than I’d expected. But, I didn’t really know anything about her, except that she’d spied on me and tried to keep me away from her son and husband.

  “I’ve apparently misjudged you as a commoner, too,” Tiye said, eyeing me speculatively. “Pentawere tells me the blood of pharaohs runs in your veins.”

  “They were kings then, not pharaohs, Majesty. But, yes, I have their blood and share their ka.”

  “Pentawere says they’re tied to your talisman.”

  Pentawere had apparently shared everything I’d told him about my family with his mother. No point in me holding back. “Majesty, this talisman was cast from the sky in a fireball more than four millennia ago. The falcon god led my ancestress Aya to the crater where it lay. It, and stories about its bearers, have been passed down in an unbroken chain from then until now. I am the two hundred–fortieth to bear this talisman. Benerib, King Aha’s wife, wore it, and their son, King Djer, and his daughter Merneith, who ruled the land as her son’s regent, and King Den, her son, and King Adjib, Den’s son.”

  “That’s a powerful lineage,” Tiye admitted. “A definite asset for Pentawere once he takes the throne. He desperately wants you to be his wife, Neset.” She smiled. “I won’t stand in his way anymore. Or yours.”

  I was stunned. After making me fear for my life for so long Tiye was suddenly giving me her blessing to be Pentawere’s wife? When it was too late for us to be together? Pentawere was already married, thanks to her. The night of the chariot ride Pharaoh had told me Tiye had pressed him for a year and a half to arrange a marriage for Pentawere. So he had. Was she trying to make me believe the marriage had been Pharaoh’s idea so I wouldn’t hold it against her? Well, I was going to hold her accountable. “Was it your idea to marry Pentawere to Naqi’a?” I asked.

  “Not to her in particular,” Tiye admitted. “But to someone, yes.”

  Tiye hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t tried to push the blame onto Pharaoh. I was surprised.

  “I never thought my husband would pick a girl so young, Neset. Certainly not a wretch! I learned the identity of Pentawere’s bride the same instant he did. If I’d known earlier I would have tried to talk Pharaoh out of it.”

  “You’d have argued with a living god?”

  “Not a god to me, Neset. A husband. Anyway, Pentawere will put Naqi’a aside as soon as he’s crowned. You’ll never have to see her again. You’ll be Pentawere’s Great Wife.”

  “Majesty, the day my husband was executed I learned he’d cheated on me with more women than I could keep track of – one of them in my own house, repeatedly. I’d never been so hurt and humiliated in my life. I won’t do that to Naqi’a – force her to share.”

  “I’ve tolerated three other wives, Neset,” Tiye said with quiet dignity. “Not to mention countless concubines. Your husband snuck around – I assure you, it doesn’t hurt any less when a husband lusts after other women openly. Can you even begin to imagine how awful I feel when Pharaoh summons another woman to share his bed in front of me?”

  For the very first time Tiye seemed like a normal woman, as helpless and vulnerable as the rest of us in the orbit of a powerful man. “No, Majesty, I can’t,” I said sympathetically. Along those lines there was an issue for us to resolve. “Majesty, I’ve told you over and over that I don’t have that kind of relationship with Pharaoh. I wouldn’t do to you what was done to me. I gave up Pentawere so I wouldn’t do it to Naqi’a. Please say you believe me.”

  She put her hand on mine again. “Yes, Neset. Now I do.”

  “Thank you Majesty. But if you hate your situation, being one of many wives and concubines, why would you wish that on me?”

  “Pentawere is not the same as my husband,” Tiye said. “He says you’re the only woman he wants. I believe him.”

  “Nonetheless, he already has a wife.”

  “Naqi’a is an unaccomplished child,” Tiye said disparagingly. “She’s a wretch. Why are you taking her feelings into account at all? She stole Pentawere from you, Neset. You loved him first. He loves you. She’ll never mean anything to him.”

  Tiye was right. Naqi’a had inserted herself into my life. Been inserted. She’d had no say in the matter. Still, she’d stolen what was mine.

  “Once Pentawere sits the throne, what do you want for yourself, Neset?” Tiye probed. “Do you want to watch Pentawere and Naqi’a and only the gods know how many other wives from a distance – he’ll take more if he can’t have you – knowing he could have been yours? Or do you want to be the wife of a pharaoh and mother of a pharaoh? Do you want the royal blood that runs in your veins to emerge again? Do you want your son’s ka to share the ka of his royal ancestors?”

  “Of course I want to be Pentawere’s wife and give him a son, Majesty! It broke my heart to send him away. But if I abandon my principles to be with him what does it say about me?”

  “Before you decide to throw your future away because of your principles, consider this, Neset – Pentawere hasn’t consummated his marriage to Naqi’a. She’s his wife in name only.”

  “Are you sure?” An astounding development. If true, she was only his companion, not truly his wife.

  “I am. He’ll put it off as long as he can, hopefully until my husband is either dead or changes his mind about the two of you after we save him. Pentawere wants to marry you, Neset. He hasn’t given up and neither should you.”

  My head was spinning. Tiye was telling me to wait for Pentawere?

  “As soon as Pentawere becomes Pharaoh he’ll give Naqi’a to his younger brother as wife. You’ll have Pentawere to yourself. A bright future beckons you, Neset. Seize it!” Tiye rose. “At any rate, whatever enmity once lay between us is dead and buried. From this moment forward.”

  I rose too and bowed respectfully. “Thank you, Majesty.”

  She rode away with her escort. The implications of what she’d told me raced through my head.

  Pharaoh had forced Pentawere to marry Naqi’a. I’d sent him from my hut, believing I had to en
d our relationship. Ever since, whenever I’d thought about him – constantly – my heart had burned with envy and longing. I’d tried to forget Pentawere, certain I could never be with him. I hadn’t been able to and I never would. But Tiye had made a compelling and convincing argument today. The coals of hope that had almost burned out inside me suddenly burst into flame. There was a very real possibility that Pentawere could still be mine, and on my terms. I gladly embraced the possibility. For the first time since Pentawere’s forced marriage I allowed myself to believe that I might someday be his wife.

  1154 BC: 32nd Regnal Year of Ramesses, Third of His Name

  Akhet (Flood)

  Neset

  A little before dawn Amenemope, Mut’s high priest, a leopard skin draped over his shoulders, bowed to the god’s statue inside his barque shrine atop a pedestal in the forecourt of his temple. Coals in containers of incense being swung by a dozen priests traced dull red arcs in the darkness. Chantresses shook their sistrums and clanged their crotal bells and slapped their ivory hand clappers together as more priests recited ancient prayers. The incense sweetened the air, rising to the heavens above we celebrants crowded into Mut’s courtyard. Today was the start of the month–long Opet Festival, timed to coincide with the arrival of the inundation at Waset. According to the stars the river had begun to rise at the cataract two weeks ago and had taken until now to come this far north.

  Mut’s temple was the centerpiece of a walled area directly south of Amen’s much larger sacred precinct within the sprawl of Ipet–Isut. Mut’s and Amen’s precincts were connected by an avenue lined with ram–headed sphinxes that passed through several pylons. Originally constructed by the third Amenhotep, Mut’s temple was studded with more than seven hundred black granite statues of the lion–headed goddess Sekhmet. They were spooky, eerie, barely visible in the wan light, dark shadows peering from dark shadows. I glanced to my left to the opposite side of the courtyard; the third Ramesses had added a temple dedicated to himself just inside the west wall. Today there was no activity there.

  Ceremonies similar to this one were simultaneously taking place at Khonsu’s temple and Amen’s. Once concluded, three sets of priests would carry their respective barque shrines through the warren of temples that made up Ipet–Isut to its quay, then load them onto a royal barque. After traveling three miles south on the river, the boats would dock at the quay that served Ipet–Resyt, Amen–Re’s southern harem. Priests would unload the shrines and, after a ceremony of welcome, carry them inside that temple to reunite Ipet–Isut’s gods with the ithyphallic form of Amen – Amen of the Opet – Amenemopet. Secret rituals to renew Pharaoh would be conducted in Amenemopet’s sanctuary. In those rituals Pharaoh would be reidentified with the royal ka that had been shared by all the rulers of the valley since the very first. His divine pharaohship would be reborn and his right to rule reconfirmed. And so, Amen–Re’s powers freshly transferred to Pharaoh, the inundation would continue to come on time, the gods would continue to protect us, and abundance would fill the valley.

  Today’s procession and rituals were the highlight and most important part of the Opet.

  Mut’s barque shrine rested on a bed of flowers. Flowers draped it. Beketaten and Wabkhet and Nauny and I had worked since sunset yesterday placing garlands and bouquets and loose bunches of flowers throughout Ipet–Isut, not just on Mut’s shrine, but Khonsu’s and Amen’s as well. For us there’d be no rest until sunset. We were carrying reed baskets full of fresh flowers that would be needed later in the day. I gazed proudly at the girls, or, rather, young women, for Nauny, the youngest, had reached marriageable age a week ago. All three were watching the ceremony attentively and reverently. I thanked the gods for them every single day. They’d already proven to be my most dependable flower arrangers. Except for holidays, they’d taken over all my former temple decorating duties. I still arranged the flowers in Pharaoh’s audience hall daily, for he expected my presence to, as he said, “brighten his day” as he was listening to petitioners drone on and on. But they did everything else. More than that, the three had become my family. They and Hay had settled in on my estate and now considered it their home. They’d been glad to escape their all too predictable futures in Ta Set Maat – marriage to workmen of their fathers’ choosing, caring for households in the village, raising baby after baby. Daily now they entered sacred precincts none of their friends even dreamed of. All three girls were friendly and bright and very pretty. A scribe from Ipet–Isut was courting Beketaten, and a scribe from the Ramesseum Wabkhet. It was only a matter of time before a priest or scribe or talented craftsman or bureaucrat started pursuing Nauny. I expected all three to eventually marry far above their station. But for now they made my estate a place of joy and happiness.

  The high priest chanted and censed Mut’s shrine. Then the chief chantress extended a brimming golden bowl towards the priest with both hands. He dipped a special instrument into it and splashed water onto Mut’s shrine, purifying it.

  Eight priests, heads shaved, kilts immaculate, grabbed hold of the long cedar carrying poles and lifted Mut’s barque onto their shoulders. They followed singing chantresses across the courtyard and through the gate in its wall and onto the sphinx–lined causeway leading to Amen’s complex. More priests flanked the barque, waving bright feather plumes and fans. Four priests with clean–shaven heads, their shoulders draped with leopard skin mantles, walked beside it.

  The tops of Ipet–Isut’s pylons and walls had taken on rose and golden hues during our ceremony. Suddenly, the gold– and electrum–clad tips of soaring obelisks began to shine as Re broke the eastern horizon. I looked in the direction of the river. Between it and our path was another, parallel, arrowing south for three miles to Ipet–Resyt. That temple’s distant walls and pylons were ephemeral in the haze of early morning, for the breeze had already stirred up desert dust. Ram–headed sphinxes lined both sides of the path between the temples its entire distance, facing each other, set amidst lush gardens and tall trees and shining pools. Hundreds of years ago, I knew from tales told in the evenings in Ta Set Maat, in the years after kings had first returned to Waset after reuniting the land, that path had been a canal and the gods had sailed back and forth between Ipet–Isut and Ipet–Resyt during the Opet. But the canal had been unusable in years of low water, and so had been filled in and converted into a path. For many generations after that the gods’ barques had been carried overland all the way to Ipet–Resyt atop it. But for as long as anyone now living could remember most of the journey had been made by water, on the river.

  I heard women singing ahead of us. We passed through a pylon erected by Pharaoh Horemheb into Amen’s complex. Directly ahead of us was another of Horemheb’s pylons. To the left, surrounded by a wall, was the temple of Khonsu, the moon god, completely rebuilt by the third Ramesses. Khonsu’s priests had already carried his barque onto the causeway between the pylons. I caught sight of Duatentopet, the god’s Chantress, accompanied by her husband Ramesses, in the midst of priests and minor chantresses. I assumed Pharaoh was participating in the rituals at Amen’s temple.

  The procession continued, led now by Khonsu’s priests. We passed through clouds of incense and trod a path of clean sand freshly sprinkled with water. Priests dipped their fans and plumes in homage to Mut and Khonsu over and over. We passed through Pharaoh Horemheb’s pylon, then one erected by Hatshepsut, then one constructed by the third Thutmose. Ahead of us was the central court where the north–south and east–west axes of Ipet–Isut intersected. Usermarenakht, First God’s Servant, and Pharaoh and the bulk of the royal family and the Amen priests and the highest–ranking officials were waiting for us there. Two barque shrines rested on pedestals – one containing Amen, the other the ka statue of Pharaoh.

  Mut’s and Khonsu’s processions fell in behind Amen’s. Usermarenakht led all of us through the hypostyle hall and great court and out of Ipet–Isut and along the Way of Offering to the quay. The chantresses’ voices rose in song as we
processed:

  “The god departs for his navigation, Amen, Lord of the Thrones of the Valley

  His heart joyful because of that which the king, Ramesses, has done.

  Amen–Re, Lord of the Thrones of the Valley, may you live forever!

  A drinking place is hewn out, the sky is folded back to the south;

  A drinking place is hewn out, the sky is folded back to the north;

  That the sailors of Ramesses, beloved of Amen–Re, praised of the gods, may drink.

  May you shine forth – shine forth, Amen–Re.

  A holiday – passing a perfect morning.

  Oh my lord – may you grow great forever, may you unite with eternity.”

  Water already lapped only a couple of feet from the quay’s top, even though the inundation’s peak was several weeks away. This year the water level promised to be especially high. I gazed across the river. Water already covered the lowest–lying of the six vast basins on the west bank, let in through sluices in the dikes that surrounded them. Eventually the river would fill much of the valley from east to west, from desert edge to desert edge, flooding the remains of the temple of the third Amenhotep on the west bank and possibly portions of Waset and Ipet–Isut on the east. When it receded it would leave behind pools of muddy water and fields renewed by a layer of rich black dirt. Farmers would sow seed in mud up to their ankles, either dropping it in shallow furrows made by cattle pulling wooden plows or broadcasting it wholesale. Women would cover the furrows using hoes and wooden mallets while their children ran back and forth, arms flapping, to chase off flocks of birds trying to land and eat the seed. But all that was several months in the future. Today the sun glinted on a rapidly expanding sheet of water.