The Gardener and the Assassin

by Mark Gajewski

  “You know I had nothing to do with Father’s death,” Ramesses said stiffly.

  “I do now. The thing is – I told Pentawere about my dream right after I had it, Majesty. I told him about the talisman, and about the falcon god, and past dreams my ancestors had that came true. He believed me. I think my dream gave him and his mother the idea that they could kill your father and make you the scapegoat. If I’d kept my dream to myself they never would have acted. Majesty, I’m responsible for killing your father, as surely as if I’d wielded the knife myself.”

  “Your dream was just a dream, Neset,” Ramesses said soothingly. “You didn’t plant the thought of overthrowing Father in their minds. You simply reinforced what they’d intended to do for years. Tiye always felt slighted that my mother Iset was Father’s Great Wife. She felt Iset didn’t deserve to be ranked higher than her because my grandmother was a wretch. She didn’t think Mother’s or my blood was pure enough. Certainly not as pure as hers and Pentawere’s. As for my brother, he’s been driven his whole life by dreams of glory. He claims he wants to rebuild our empire, but what he really wants is to be mentioned in the same breath as the third Thutmose and Ramesses the Great. He refuses to even consider the realities a ruler must face – an empty treasury, repeated low inundations, powerful priesthoods. If Pentawere was Pharaoh he’d leave the valley to its own devices and spend the rest of his life traipsing about the North, seeking enemies to subjugate. No, you’re not to blame, Neset. I’ve heard whispers of Pentawere’s attempts to sway the army to back him for years by spreading his dream of empire. The army was never as loyal to Pentawere as he thought.”

  “I know you believe my dream was nothing special, Majesty. But I have to reiterate again – every dream that’s been sent to the talisman’s bearer has always come true. My dream didn’t show you killing your father – it showed you being convicted of killing your father.”

  “Am I missing the difference?”

  “You are, Majesty. I’m afraid Pentawere and Tiye will somehow make it appear you were involved in your father’s death. You’ll be executed.” I seized his hand, as improper as that was. “I implore you, Majesty. Don’t take my dream lightly. Don’t believe that just because you’ve caught the conspirators dead to rights they’ll pay for their crime instead of you. Take precautions, Majesty.”

  “I appreciate your warning, Neset,” Ramesses said.

  His expression said he wasn’t going to heed it. Was it up to me to protect him from Pentawere and Tiye? How? I’d failed to protect his father. I had no resources at my disposal. I had no idea who might still be arrayed against him. I released his hand, took a deep breath. I felt exhausted, overwhelmed. I’d never expected the talisman to be such a burden.

  Ramesses rose. “I must be off now to attend to affairs of state. I’m not sure we’ve identified everyone involved yet. The army’s on alert in case any of Pentawere’s adherents try to seize the throne. These are not days for me to display any kind of weakness. I’ll visit you again as soon as I can. Until then, rest.”

  ***

  As soon as I was able to leave my bed for short periods of time I began sitting in the per’aa’s garden with Beketaten and Wabkhet and Nauny every evening after the day’s heat broke. The third evening I found my favorite bench occupied by another convalescent, a man with a heavily bandaged shoulder. He turned at my approach.

  “Kairy?”

  The man I’d wrongly presumed to be colluding with Ramesses to kill Pharaoh. The man I’d thought had been spying on me. The man Ramesses had practically tried to push into my arms. The man who’d saved my life the night of the coup. A man I’d horribly misjudged.

  He stood, flustered. “My Lady. I didn’t realize this was your bench.”

  “Please, sit. We can share. I’m waiting for three of my girls to finish work. It’ll be a while.”

  We seated ourselves at opposite ends.

  I glanced at him. “Your shoulder, Kairy – were you wounded during the coup?”

  “A minute earlier and I would have saved Pharaoh,” Kairy said regretfully. “I rushed into his room just as Heket slashed her knife across his throat. He was asleep. The cut was so deep he died instantly. So much blood… One of his so–called guards stabbed me in the shoulder from behind. I didn’t know he was in the room. His Majesty and loyal guards killed him and seized Heket.”

  “That night haunts my dreams,” I admitted.

  “I still can’t close my eyes without seeing Heket smiling viciously as she cut Pharaoh’s throat,” Kairy said. “Simply because Pharaoh had moved on to other concubines.”

  I thought about Pentawere and how he’d betrayed me. And Mesedptah. “To lose love cuts deep. But if it hadn’t been her, it would have been someone else.”

  “At least they wouldn’t have been gleeful about it.”

  “It’s lucky you were guarding His Majesty’s corridor that night.”

  “I wasn’t supposed to be there, My Lady. I escorted His Majesty to his room from the banquet and found Mayernu standing guard by himself. He said his fellow guard had taken ill. So I remained, over Mayernu’s objections. It’s clear now he wanted to be alone so he could act with impunity. He’d probably slipped something into his companion’s food or drink to sicken him.”

  “Mayernu could have killed Ramesses in his sleep,” I guessed. “Then he could have dragged Ramesses’ body to Pharaoh’s room. Everyone would have believed Ramesses killed his father.”

  “And that Pentawere’s men killed him afterwards. A tangled web of deceit. One you ripped to shreds.”

  Only because I’d happened to be in the right place at the right time. “How is your shoulder, Kairy?”

  “It’s stiff. I’ve lost much strength. If I can’t pull reins hard enough to control horses my days driving a chariot are over.”

  “Pharaoh – Pharaoh’s father – took me on a ride once. It was the most exciting thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Maybe someday, if my shoulder heals properly, I’ll take you on another,” Kairy offered.

  The first time he’d ever come on to me, despite far better opportunities. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was simply trying to be kind. It didn’t matter either way. I’d never take him up on his offer. I had no interest in him. I’d never have an interest in any man again, not after Pentawere’s betrayal on top of Mesedptah’s. Men were all untrustworthy. But no point in being rude to Kairy. He’d saved Ramesses and me. Mayernu would have let me bleed to death. “I’ll pray to the gods for you, then,” I said.

  A few moments passed in awkward silence. Then Kairy turned towards me, his face earnest. “I truly admire you, My Lady. I’ve never seen such courage, the way you threw yourself in front of Mayernu’s knife. You saved His Majesty’s life without regard for your own.”

  “I simply reacted. But Mayernu would have killed His Majesty if you hadn’t slit his throat.”

  “I reacted too.” He glanced at my shoulder. “How’s your wound, My Lady?”

  “Doing fairly well. I feel it most late at night. I’ll have a nasty white scar below my collarbone for the rest of my life.”

  “A badge of honor, My Lady.”

  Laughter announced my girls were approaching.

  “Speaking of honor, Kairy. Has His Majesty given you a reward for saving his life?”

  “He’s very generously granted me an estate quite near where I grew up. Though I’m not sure I’ll spend much time there. Once I’ve recovered I’m to command his chariots and continue training the Falcon in the Nest and eventually be his deputy when he comes of age and takes command of the entire army.”

  Ironic, that Pentawere’s treason had paved the way for Kairy to gain the command Pentawere had so obsessively desired.

  Kairy stood. “I’ll leave you to your friends, My Lady. I pray your recovery is swift.”

  “And yours, Kairy.”

  Many evenings Pharaoh joined the four of us in the garden. The girls were terrified of him at first, as I’d been of
his father, but he quickly put them at ease. I scarcely recognized Ramesses these days; as was tradition he was letting his hair and beard grow and was eating little, which he’d continue until his father’s burial. In bits and pieces I told him everything about the talisman, about its bearers, about the dreams that had come true. He was still skeptical that my dream presaged his death, but promised he’d take steps just in case.

  Eventually I gained enough strength to spend a few hours each day tending the flowers in Djeme’s garden and giving directions to the overseers who worked for me. I kept the girls busy carrying my messages to gardens and temples on both banks of the river. One memorable day Pharaoh took me, along with his wife and son and his son’s wives and his father’s widows, to the Great Place to check on the third Ramesses’ tomb, to ensure all the last minute changes would be finished in time for the funeral. I was carried there in a palanquin, just like the royals. The looks on the faces of craftsmen from Ta Set Maat when they saw me arrive with Pharaoh and his family were priceless. The tomb was even more spectacular than I remembered since all eight new storage rooms had been completed. I’d convinced Pharaoh to invite Hay to come with us; he’d described for the royal family in great detail the meaning of every image in every corridor and chamber and room. Hay talked about that tour for weeks afterwards.

  ***

  While his father’s body was being prepared for burial Pharaoh set out on a weeks–long progression, accompanied by family and high priests and important officials, his destination every major town and temple between Abu at the cataract and Pi–Ramesses in the delta. At each he’d participate in a coronation ceremony and receive pledges of fealty from local officials. His actual coronation wouldn’t take place until after his father was buried, but the progression was an age–old tradition after the death of one pharaoh to remind officials throughout the valley that they were now beholden to his successor. I’d been invited to attend the first ceremony, a little over two day’s journey south of Waset at Nekhen.

  I’d wanted to visit Nekhen, the place that figured so prominently in many of my family’s stories, my whole life. I traveled on the royal barque. My injury wasn’t fully healed; Beketaten came along to look after me. Most of the time our vessel was driven south against the current by the prevailing northerly wind, our colorful sail billowing. On occasion, when the wind died, our sailors rowed. I sat every day under the sunscreen amidships along with the royal family and the high priests and the most important officials, including Vizier Neferronpet. Kairy constantly hovered in the background, discretely and protectively watching over Pharaoh, a linen bandage white against the dark skin of his shoulder. He nodded to me pleasantly whenever he passed me on deck, but never spoke.

  Beketaten and I stationed ourselves at the bow as we approached Nekhen early in the afternoon on the third day of our journey. Our sailors tied up at its rather dilapidated quay alongside a dozen fishing punts. The town, surrounded by mud–brick walls, was about half a mile due west of the river on the edge of the desert, just beyond a wide cultivated strip, its recently–harvested emmer fields mostly stubble. A wide wadi snaked up a gentle slope for almost a mile from the western edge of the town wall to the base of a sheer–walled cliff that loomed over the valley. The land on either side of the wadi was unruly, covered with clumps of wild grasses, dotted with a few tiny groves of leafless acacia trees, cut by gullies and wadis slicing north and south. The wadi was streaked with yellow clay, likely washed off the plateau above the cliff during rare rainstorms. A deeply worn path wound upwards through its heart. Near the base of the plateau the wadi narrowed and the ground rose high on each of its flanks, forming two promontories or terraces. Near the rightmost promontory, next to the wadi path, stood a tall flat–topped outcrop of rock, perhaps twenty feet high and ten across.

  “Nekhen’s not at all what I imagined,” I told Beketaten, extremely disappointed. “When my ancestors lived here several millennia ago it was the largest and most prosperous and most important settlement in the valley, home to thousands. Now look at it – I can see houses fallen to ruin through gaps in the town wall. It looks like they haven’t patched it in centuries. I’ll bet well under a thousand people live here.” I turned, pointed across the river. “Nekheb used to be a hamlet. Now it’s far larger than Nekhen. The center of population in this part of the valley has shifted. And just look at Nekheb’s town wall – impressive.”

  Several vultures were riding updrafts over the river, circling Nekheb.

  “I can see why everyone in Nekheb worships Nekhbet, the vulture goddess,” Beketaten said.

  “Horus and Nekhbet, both protectors of kings, both from the section of the valley where kingship began,” I observed. I turned back towards Nekhen. “See that outcrop? Grandfather once told me the view of the valley is spectacular from its top. We’ll climb it while we’re here – there are supposedly plenty of steps and handholds carved into its flanks. Ancient boats are etched on it – in fact, there are hundreds of rock carvings in these wadis and on the hills. Even more across the river around Nekheb – hundreds of vultures. Anyway, see the terrace closest to the outcrop? That was the ruler’s cemetery.”

  “Were any of your family rulers, Neset?”

  “The grandfather of the husband of my ancestress Amenia. But he was more interested in building boats and trading than ruling so he yielded to another.”

  “What about non–royals?”

  “Commoners and elites lie on the low desert both north and south of town. Including my ancestors. Their graves were marked by mounds of sand. I assume after so many centuries they’ve been swept away by the wind.” I pointed again. “Supposedly, somewhere on the heights near the ruler’s cemetery, is a kiln where three of my ancestors, Tiaa and Ipu and Amenia, created exquisite pottery. I want to try to find it this afternoon.”

  “What’s that?” Beketaten pointed to a massive mud–brick structure just outside town, its thirty–foot high niched walls shining whitely wherever its coating of plaster remained, more than two hundred feet long and nearly that wide.

  “No one knows for sure. It was erected by King Khasekhemwy. He was the father of King Netjeryket, who built the Step Pyramid. Some say he erected it for his rejuvenation festival in the thirtieth year of his reign.”

  “His Heb–Sed?”

  “Yes. Others claim it was a funerary structure, that he originally intended to be buried here at Nekhen. But he actually lies at Abdju. There’s a duplicate structure there. I saw it once.” Along with Pentawere.

  “Why at both places?” Beketaten asked.

  “The valley split apart before he was born. Khasekhem, ‘the power appears,’ as he was originally known, ruled the South from Nekhen. But he defeated the king of the North and reunited the valley and changed his name to Khasekhemwy – ‘the two powers appear.’ It made sense he’d want to rest alongside Narmer and the earliest kings instead of here.”

  We were the last to leave the barque. Pharaoh had asked me to arrange flowers for tomorrow’s ceremony; since I had nothing to do until early in the morning I decided to go exploring. Beketaten accompanied me. We crossed the cultivated strip to town on a narrow footpath. A few farmers and their families regarded us without curiosity. They’d watched the royals pass. They knew we were unimportant.

  “Thousands of years ago, long before my ancestors settled here, small bands occupied the plains along the river, each ruled by its own patriarch, each in a camp separate from the camps of other bands,” I told Beketaten. “Eventually, women and men in the bands intermarried and had children and the camps expanded and drew closer together until they all merged into a hamlet and then grew into a settlement. The bands’ patriarchs became the settlement’s elite, and they appointed one of their number to rule over them. The position wasn’t hereditary in those days.

  “As Nekhen grew, because the land was so bountiful, not everyone needed to tend crops. So specialists began to perform certain tasks, supported by farmers – brewers, potters, hunters, he
rders, weavers, fishermen, many more. Workshops sprang up, overseen by patriarchs, who provided craftsmen with food and clothing and shelter in return for their products. Nekhen became powerful and wealthy by trading its goods throughout the valley. One of my ancestors convinced the patriarchs of every village and hamlet in this region to recognize Nekhen’s ruler as their ruler, making him the first ruler over a region.”

  “Their pharaoh?” Beketaten asked.

  “He wasn’t called that, but in essence, yes. Somewhat later, Nubt and Tjeni also grew into what we’d probably call small kingdoms, accumulating territory and gaining control over nearby people. Along with Nekhen, they were the three dominant settlements in the valley. Eventually their rulers all adopted the title ‘king.’ It wasn’t until the third Thutmose’s time that people began to routinely call the king ‘pharaoh.’”

  We followed the wadi path up the gentle slope towards the western terraces. The land on either side was mostly desolate, dotted with clumps of grass and scrub brush and scattered gnarled trees. A few wadis intersected this main one; remains of wood and reed fences blocked the opening of one. I wondered if animals had once been penned there. We passed the outcrop of rock and continued on a short distance and reached the terrace. There we paused to rest.

  The entire valley was spread below us – the shining river at its heart lined with boats, the harvested strip along either bank, Nekhen and Nekheb within their walls, people ant–like at this distance. Khasekhemwy’s structure dominated the scene.

  “Imagine Nekhen when my ancestors lived here,” I told Beketaten. “A boatyard along the bank, with reed and later wood boats under construction and others moored, large trading vessels being loaded or unloaded. A fishery, with the catch split and drying on racks. Dozens of fishing punts plying the river. The town, sprawling, its huts arranged in neighborhoods by profession. The king’s per’aa the dominant building. Where Khasekhemwy’s structure now stands an empty field. An industrial section for carpenters and brewers and tanners. Cattle penned in one of the wadis and more grazing along the river. Women carrying earthenware jars to the pen each morning to collect milk. A separate settlement here on the heights, home to potters, their kilns high up to catch the wind. An oval court just outside the settlement surrounded by a reed and wood fence plastered and painted, where people worshiped the falcon god. A dais at one end of the court where the ruler presided during festivals. A tall pole topped by a copper falcon reflecting the sun for miles up and down the valley. Workshops lining the outside of the oval, where craftsmen made items for trade and to honor the god. The halls and tombs of rulers on the terrace to our left, looming over the settlement, reminding everyone that their ancestors were still with them, part of their lives. Thousands of people going about their daily business. Farmers caring for their fields.”