“We have visitors,” Kairy announced.
Everyone stopped what they were doing, their faces illuminated by flickering firelight.
“This is Neset, Overseer of His Majesty’s gardens on both banks at Waset, and her assistant and friend, Beketaten. They’ve come to Nekhen for the progression. Ladies, my brother Ani and sister Iput and her girls – Tiaa, Bakist, Abar, Ipu and Amenia.”
I looked at each of them in wonder.
“I told you,” Kairy said.
“Iput, why those particular names?” I asked.
“I wanted my daughters to have strong women to emulate. So I named them after some of the most prominent women who’ve ever lived in Nekhen.”
“Tiaa was Neset’s ancestress too, like she was ours,” Kairy told his sister.
“So were Ipu and Amenia,” I said. “Bakist and Abar were connected to my family.”
“Those are names from ancient times,” Ani said, joining us. He was dressed impeccably. The odor of incense clung to him. I remembered a time when incense had filled my nostrils from sunup to sundown, when I’d participated in the Opet ceremony in the depths of Ipet–Resyt, and during the Beautiful Feast.
“Neset and I just spent a fascinating hour in the rulers’ cemetery, comparing family stories about how our mutual ancestress Tiaa made the first Kairy Nekhen’s ruler,” Kairy said. “You’ll enjoy hearing it, Brother. Some of the mystery surrounding that event is mystery no more.”
“I can hardly wait. Please, sit,” Ani invited.
While we’d been talking the girls had finished arranging platters and bowls in a circle a bit back from the fire. We seated ourselves cross–legged around it. I noted that Beketaten went out of her way to position herself next to Ani. Amenia circulated, pouring cups of beer. Bakist and Abar and Ipu fought to sit next to Kairy. He was apparently much loved by his nieces.
Tiaa sat next to me. I guessed her to be about seventeen. “Was Tiaa really your ancestor?” she asked.
“She was.”
“Do you know much about her?”
“Quite a bit. She grew up in one of several small bands that lived part of each year beside a playa on the savannah south and west of here. Most of the year the bands grazed their herds elsewhere on the savannah, gathering at the playa after the spring rains filled it and staying until grain ripened along its shores. Tiaa was a potter like her mother before her. She accidentally invented black–topped pottery and became master of the style. She brought it to this valley. But she was far more than a potter. Knowing when the rains would come and when the bands should rendezvous at the playa was critically important to her people. One of Tiaa’s ancestors had figured out how to tell when the rainy season would start by aligning a series of large stones with the sun and certain stars. Making the prediction became Tiaa’s responsibility after her grandfather died and gave her this.”
I took the talisman from around my neck and handed it to Tiaa. She fingered it cautiously.
“In my family, we believe the falcon god cast this from the sky and led my ancestress Aya to it thousands of years ago. Ever since, he’s been our family god.”
“May I?” Ani asked.
He took it from Tiaa and studied it reverently for a long time, then reluctantly gave it back to me.
“As I told Kairy earlier, one night, while she was sleeping beside the playa, Tiaa had a dream about confirming a man as ruler of a settlement along the river while thousands of people watched.”
“Our ancestor, Kairy,” Kairy interjected.
“What was particularly amazing was that she’d never seen the river, much less the settlement. Shortly afterwards a trader, Ankhmare, came to the playa and Tiaa returned to the valley with him. Eventually they came to Nekhen. You know the rest, from your family stories.”
“What happened to Tiaa after Kairy became ruler?” Tiaa asked.
“Before she came to Nekhen Tiaa had fallen in love with a boy named Qar. His band roamed the savannah between the river and the eastern sea. He was responsible for etching images of animals on rock faces so that his band’s hunters would be successful. But their patriarchs wouldn’t let them marry. Eventually, Tiaa fled to Nekhen along with Ankhmare. She worked as a potter here, making the black–topped pottery and another style she’d learned at Ankhmare’s home, Badari. At her kiln up on the heights here she invented another style of pottery – the body red and polished, with figures of gazelles and crocodiles and hippos and elephants and wild bulls and waterfowl and plants and sickle–shaped boats etched in white – the same images Qar had etched on his rocks. Ankhmare traded her pottery north up the river.”
“And Qar discovered some object and traced Tiaa to Nekhen and they lived long and happy lives,” Tiaa guessed.
“You are absolutely correct. And, apparently, one of her daughters married the first Kairy’s grandson. Making us related.”
“What about Amenia?” her namesake asked.
“She was a potter too. She actually used Tiaa’s kiln. She fell in love with a boat builder named Nykara. But her uncle forced her to marry someone else. Years later Nekhen’s ruler, a very bad man, sentenced Amenia to death. Nykara rescued her and took her and her family north. At the time Nykara was married to Bakist, the daughter of his trading partner in the delta.”
Iput’s daughter Bakist perked up at the mention of her name.
“Bakist died on the journey, hours after giving birth to a daughter. She’s buried on the heights overlooking a plain where the heretic pharaoh later established his city. Nykara and Amenia founded an estate in the delta and married and had many children.”
“What do your stories say about Abar?” asked her namesake.
“She was the daughter of one of Nekhen’s rulers and was forced to marry the man who succeeded him – the ruler who sentenced Amenia to death. Abar also loved Nykara.”
“Abar helped Amenia escape, according to what’s been passed down in our family,” Ani said quietly. “While Nykara was digging Amenia and her family out of the hut where they were imprisoned Abar set the ruler’s halls on the terrace afire, diverting everyone’s attention. Her husband found out and executed her in the oval court.”
I hadn’t known that part of her story. I shivered. If not for Abar, my line might have ended here in Nekhen and I wouldn’t have been born. I couldn’t help wonder if hers was the unaccounted for body on the second boat etched over the family kiln. Maybe one of Amenia’s friends had done it.
“How about Ipu?”
“She was Amenia’s great–grandmother. She had a horrible accident when she was young and both of her arms were twisted, practically useless. Despite her disability she was a healer. She lived a very long life.”
“What happened to your shoulder, Neset?” Tiaa asked, indicating my linen bandage.
“Neset threw herself in front of a guard who was trying to stab Pharaoh,” Kairy interjected before I could answer. “She nearly died. It was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.” The admiration in his voice was unmistakable.
“Pharaoh would have died anyway if your brother hadn’t cut the traitorous guard’s throat,” I said. “Kairy saved my life too. Otherwise, I would’ve bled to death.”
“We’ve only heard vague rumors about the coup,” Iput said. “Tell us what happened.”
“I’ll fill you in later, after the girls have gone to bed,” Kairy said.
“Aw!” Amenia exclaimed.
“I still have nightmares, Niece,” Kairy admitted. “It was awful.”
He wasn’t the only one haunted by what had happened. I supposed once the trial started I’d have to relive the attack all over again. And, at its end, watch Pentawere die. I wasn’t looking forward to that.
“Why have you come to Nekhen?” Ani asked Beketaten.
“Neset and I are going to arrange flowers for tomorrow’s coronation ceremony. Pharaoh himself commanded it,” she said proudly.
“We should probably check on them tonight, after we eat,” I said.
“Treasures?” Beketaten asked, her interest piqued.
“Spectacular treasures. Would you like to see them?”
“Can we, Neset?”
“Of course.”
We ate a leisurely dinner, filled with laugher and a plethora of simultaneous conversations, occasionally peppered by family stories. I discovered that Kairy’s ancestors and mine had intersected on numerous occasions during the five hundred years mine had lived at Nekhen. I also discovered that Kairy could be quite engaging when he wasn’t on alert trying to protect Pharaoh. The genuine love between him and his brother and sister and nieces was something I’d always craved but had never had. I couldn’t help envy him his large close family. After we bid Iput and the girls goodnight, Ani and Kairy and Beketaten and I retraced our steps to Nekhen. Luckily, the moon was full and lit our way along the riverbank and through the stubble–covered fields. We entered Nekhen through its gate, then followed Ani along a narrow dusty lane between haphazardly arranged houses towards the temple. Smoke curled from small yards behind some.
“You seem to be very popular with your nieces, Kairy.”
“I see them far less than I’d like. I haven’t visited Nekhen in two years. Iput and Ani and the nieces are all the family I’ll ever have.”
“Don’t you want children of your own?”
Kairy laughed, a bit sadly. “My life belongs to Pharaoh, Neset. I go where he goes, when he goes. I’ve never been in one spot for more than a few months at a time. What woman would settle for that?”
“That’s very sad.”
He shrugged. “I’ve accepted it. But what about you, Neset? Will you marry someday?”
“My first husband stole from the tomb of Ramesses the Great and slept with many women and girls in Ta Set Maat. Pentawere killed his father and tried to kill his brother. The men I get close to betray me. I’ll never trust a man ever again, much less marry one.”
Muted music wafted from a large building at the end of one lane.
“That’s the governor’s residence,” Ani said. “He and Pharaoh and his officials are still feasting.”
“Was that once the king’s per’aa?” I asked. “Narmer himself built it, replacing one dating from Amenia’s time,” I told Beketaten.
Ani shook his head no. “Narmer’s per’aa was located closer to the oval court. It fell out of use after King Khasekhemwy reunited the valley and settled in the North. For a few generations squatters lived in it. Eventually people dismantled it and used its mud–bricks to build their own huts. There’s no trace of it anymore.”
Horus’ shrine soon came into view ahead of us, simple, rectangular, made of small limestone blocks. It crowned an eight–foot high oval mound of ritually clean white sand encased by a wall of sandstone blocks, in the angle where the south and west town walls intersected. A large empty courtyard faced the temple.
“You should plant a garden here,” I told Ani.
“Maybe I will someday.”
“This temple’s so primitive, compared to Ipet–Isut or Ipet–Resyt,” Beketaten said.
“But far older than any temple in Waset, perhaps as old as any in the valley,” Ani replied. “King Khasekhemwy built this temple atop the remains of a mud–brick shrine that Narmer had erected. Let’s have a look inside.”
We ascended stone steps to the top of the mound. Ani lit a bowl of oil and by its flickering light we entered the temple, our shadows preceding us down a corridor perhaps twenty yards long.
“Horus spends his days in his statue behind the closed door at the far end,” Ani said. “It’s the most sacred part of the shrine.”
Four doors gaped open along the corridor.
“Your flowers are in that room,” Ani said. Then he led us into one next to it, the largest. He lit several more bowls, illuminating a jumble of magnificent treasures piled on the floor, offerings to the god from past kings and rulers and pharaohs. I glimpsed maces, ivory statuettes, stone statues, cylinder seals, faience figurines, pottery in three ancient styles – black–topped, polished–red with images in white, buff–colored with images in brown – the styles invented by Tiaa and Amenia. Gold glittered. I stared, awed, overwhelmed. Objects from a dozen of my family’s stories, each exactly as described. I suspected Tiaa and Amenia had personally made the pottery, for every object was exquisite and they’d been masters.
“It’s so cluttered,” Beketaten observed.
“But such magnificent clutter!” I exclaimed. “See those dozens of maces? Some of my ancestors witnessed Narmer’s coronation as king here at Nekhen after he unified the valley. He ordered the patriarchs of hamlets and towns and the rulers of small kingdoms who owed him fealty to deposit their maces, the signs of their authority, at his feet. Those are the very maces!”
“Who’s this?” Beketaten asked, inspecting a copper statue.
“King Pepi, first of his name,” Ani said. “A second, smaller statue’s concealed inside.”
“Look, Beketaten.” I pointed to two statues of a seated king, one made of slate, one of limestone. “King Khasekhem, wearing the White Crown.”
“The statues commemorate the king defeating his rival and reuniting the land,” Ani said. “See the limp and contorted enemies etched on the statues’ bases? The papyrus protruding from their heads means they were from Ta–mehi. This statue records more than forty–seven thousand dead, and the other more than forty–eight thousand.”
I was drawn to the head of a falcon topped with two plumes of copper. “Horus of Nekhen,” I said reverently. “In my stories, a similar object topped a pole in the oval court and could be seen for miles up and down the river. Could this be it?”
“Maybe. But I think it’s newer,” Ani said. He took hold of a wooden shaft to which a substantial pear–shaped limestone macehead was affixed. “This was King Scorpion’s. He preceded Narmer as Tjeni’s ruler. He was the second of his name to rule that settlement.”
“All these scorpions on vessels and figurines, and the inscriptions, refer to him?” I queried.
“They do.” Ani slowly revolved the mace. Beketaten was peering over his shoulder. He described it to her. “This macehead tells us much about Scorpion. The image of him opening an irrigation ditch? Making sure crops grew was an important function of the king in those days. See these plovers hanging by their necks from standards? They indicate the people’s powerlessness in comparison to the king, their inability to escape their fates, their humiliation. The bows hanging from the standards represent the valley’s external enemies. Scorpion’s absolute dominance is indicated by his towering stature. And this…” – he picked up a second mace – “belonged to King Narmer himself.” He handed it to me.
I studied the macehead carefully, awed. “I don’t understand half of what’s written on it.”
Ani nodded. “Writing was extremely primitive in Narmer’s time, limited mostly to names of estates and such etched on labels attached to storage jars. No sentences. So it’s hard to know the exact meaning of the writing after so many centuries.”
“The man seated beneath the baldachin wearing the Red Crown must be Narmer,” I posited. “This is clearly the goddess Nekhbet flying overhead, protecting him. It looks like a woman is addressing him.”
“Probably his wife, Neith–hotep,” Ani said.
I nodded. “Their union had tied Tjeni, Narmer’s kingdom, to her father’s, Nubt. Nekhen subsequently joined their Southern alliance, which made unification of the entire valley possible. The four men carrying standards probably refer to settlements that owed fealty to Narmer – since he’s wearing the Red Crown, they’re probably from the delta. The cattle and sheep and men seem to mark a census of the land.”
“The sandal–bearer and fan–bearers are obvious,” Ani added. “They support the notion that Narmer was a king. The bird perched on a shrine–like structure may refer to Wadjet’s shrine at
Pe and Dep, referring to Narmer’s newly–gained control over Ta–mehi.”
“And there,” I pointed, “is Narmer’s name, in a serek, with Horus perched atop it.”
“The way ruler’s names were written before they were enclosed in cartouches, as they are now.”
“It might interest you to know I’ve visited Narmer’s grave at Abdju,” I told Ani. “It’s marked by a stela with the same image. The grave’s mostly drifted over with sand now.”
“I envy you,” Ani said.
I pointed to a two–foot tall black siltstone palette leaning against a wall. “Is that Narmer’s palette?”
“It is. A very large cosmetic palette, created by Narmer, to commemorate his victory over a rebellious Ta–mehi leader who’d disavowed the fealty he’d given years earlier, the very last act in the valley’s unification.”
“Actually, his brother Djem commissioned it,” I said.
“I had no idea.” Ani picked it up. “On top are two images of the goddess Bat, flanking Narmer’s name in a serek. The palette is dominated by Narmer wearing the White Crown, his fingers entwined in a captive’s hair, his mace raised to smite him. The king’s sandal–bearer stands behind him. To the right is Horus, standing atop the head of a captive with papyrus growing from his back, an obvious reference to Ta–mehi. At the bottom are two enemies, fleeing.” Ani turned the palette over. “Here’s Bat again, flanking the serek. The second register shows the sandal bearer following Narmer. This time he wears the Red Crown and carries a flail in his right hand and a mace in his left. He’s marching behind four men carrying standards of regions that owe him fealty, towards ten men lying on the ground with their cut–off heads resting between their legs, nine of them with their penises atop their heads. They represent enemies Narmer slew in the final battle.”
“A battle Djem fought in,” I said.
Ani continued. “In the third register two lions with very long entwined necks outline a circular depression that could be used to grind cosmetics; each lion is controlled by a lion tamer. At the very bottom of the palette is the king in the guise of a bull trampling a man, and the walled town he conquered. Narmer was the last king portrayed as an animal.” Ani set the palette back in place. “The writing’s primitive and difficult to understand, but the scenes clearly illustrate kingship – the ruler enthroned and holding court and moving about the land in the guise of various animals. Images of power and aggression.”
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 58
