We reached the section of the village where Amennakht and his closest relatives lived. Many of his sons had houses adjoining his. I spotted Harshire, the son I’d ruled in favor of, and To, named after the prior vizier, Beketaten’s father. I was glad I’d rescued her and her cousins from Ta Set Maat. They at least wouldn’t be diminished by the small–minded craftsmen who controlled the village.
We entered Amennakht’s house. The porters remained in the street just outside. Amennakht led us past the family shrine set atop three steps just inside the front door. The main room’s brilliantly whitewashed walls were covered with images of gods and kings. A row of ebony chests lined one wall – clearly, a chief scribe acquired much wealth during his lifetime. Honeyed cakes had been set out on platters, and Amennakht’s granddaughters were standing by with jars of wine. The men seated themselves cross–legged in a circle around the platters atop colorful mats. The girl with the ostrich–feather fan stationed herself behind Neferronpet and continued cooling him. I slipped into the place next to him. I could tell the village officials were incensed that a woman had inserted herself into their midst, but I didn’t care and they didn’t dare complain to the vizier.
The girls came forward and poured everyone a cup of wine. It was the best I’d ever tasted in the village. It was far inferior to what was served in the per’aa.
“My Lady and I have been sent by Pharaoh to begin the process of constructing his tomb,” Neferronpet said after merely sipping at his cup then setting it aside, his lips slightly curled in distaste. “It’s been three decades since the tomb of Ramesses, third of his name, was excavated, and no one outside of Ta Set Maat has experience in such a task. Tell me, Amennakht, what must be done to create Pharaoh’s eternal home?”
Amennakht smiled. He gloried in the opportunity to regale the vizier with his expertise. “As you know, Vizier, we in Ta Set Maat have created tombs for dozens of kings and pharaohs these past centuries. The very first step is for Pharaoh to select a spot in the Great Place, carry out various rituals to propitiate the gods, and bury foundation deposits.”
“Selecting the proper location is critical, Excellency,” Khonsu interjected. “The stone must be workable – as free of veins of flint as possible, compact enough not to crumble or collapse as the digging proceeds. The tomb must be laid out in relation to existing tombs – corridors wind in many directions underground and every effort must be made not to intersect with another pharaoh’s, which is difficult because there are no maps of the tombs.”
“Pharaoh will need to define a theme for his tomb,” Amennakht continued. “He’ll need to decide the spells and sacred books he wants featured. That’ll determine how many corridors and rooms we’ll need to cut. Master craftsmen will create templates based on Pharaoh’s choices for the craftsmen who’ll actually decorate his tomb to follow.”
“Two gangs will work on the tomb, Excellency,” Khonsu continued. “A right and left. First, stone masons will roughly cut corridors and rooms. More will smooth the walls. Plasterers will fill in cracks and cover walls and the ceiling with a thin layer of plaster, suitable for either painting on or incising. Scribes will, using the templates, draw images atop the plaster. Senior scribes will make corrections, and then craftsmen will turn them into final images.”
“Boys will lug the stone chips from the tomb as it’s excavated,” Amennakht said. “Water carriers and cooks will care for the men. Metalsmiths will resmelt copper tools that become dull. Overseers will supervise the work. Scribes will account for everything that happens – who shows up for work, how many baskets of chips are dumped, who’s issued a tool and such.”
“Pharaoh is fortunate to have such a skilled and experienced workforce at his disposal,” Vizier Neferronpet said with a hint of flattery in his voice.
Now it was my turn. “I’ve spoken with Pharaoh and explained it’s traditional for Pharaoh to give gifts to the men who’ll oversee the work. I’ve suggested gifts I believe are appropriate.” I clapped my hands sharply.
Two porters carried their boxes into the house and set them down and opened the lids.
“Foreman Anhirkawi,” Neferronpet said.
Anhirkawi stood.
I indicated the boxes. “For you, Foreman – silver vases from Askelon, fine linen, oils, honey, cream, and a surplus of basic foodstuffs. Take them, with the thanks and appreciation of Pharaoh.”
Anhirkawi’s face broke into a broad smile. He ignored me, bowed to Neferronpet, then hurried to inspect his gifts.
One after another, porters carried boxes into the house and Neferronpet gifted them to the other officials in similar fashion. None thanked me.
“There will, of course, be rewards for the craftsmen when the work is completed,” I concluded after the last box had been presented.
Everyone was pleased with Pharaoh’s generosity. The girls poured more wine. The officials drained their cups, smiling.
“There’s another matter of which we must speak, Scribe,” Neferronpet told Amennakht.
“Excellency?”
“Some time ago Pharaoh passed through the Mountains of Bekhen in the Eastern Desert while he was leading his men on campaign towards the Eastern Sea.”
“Yes. His Majesty told me of the excellent building stone he’d discovered. I spent several months in that area afterwards at his command, identifying the best sites for quarries.”
“His Majesty intends to erect many temples during his reign, and so intends to quarry that stone and bring it back to the valley. He tells me you’ve made a map of the quarries and trails and waterholes.”
“I did, Excellency.” Amennakht rose, went to an ebony chest, opened it, retrieved a scroll, presented it to Neferronpet.
“Pharaoh intends to send an expedition in a year or two to begin retrieving that stone,” Neferronpet said. “The First God’s Servant’s brother, the priest Ramesesnakht, is going to organize it. This map will be very helpful. Tell me, Amennakht – do you think there are enough waterholes to support eight thousand men?”
“No, Excellency. Water will have to be carried from the valley on a continual basis to keep that many men supplied. Caravans of laden donkeys should do the trick.”
“Very good.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, Excellency, where will the priest get so many men?”
“Soldiers mostly, supplemented by farmers during the months of inundation. Of course, that doesn’t count cooks and hunters and water carriers and boatmen and scribes and all the other support staff the quarrymen will need.”
“It will, I’m sure, be an amazing sight,” Amennakht said.
“You’ll need to accompany the expedition,” Neferronpet said. “Pharaoh wants men to scour the Eastern Desert for new sources of gold to pay for his construction. He wants you to make a map of whatever they find.”
Amennakht bowed. “As His Majesty commands.”
Neferronpet rose to go, and the rest of us with him.
“Excellency,” Anhirkawi said, still smiling at his sudden increase in wealth. “Please tell His Majesty – life, health, prosperity – how grateful we are for his gifts. Assure him that I, at least, plan to commemorate the gifts I’ve been given on a stela, and on the walls of my tomb, and in the village’s Hathor chapel. Tell His Majesty that his generosity will be known for eternity.”
***
Shemu (Harvest)
Pentawere
***
“We’ll be dead by this time tomorrow, Mother.”
Half the people in the two large adjoining workrooms that almost a dozen of my fellow conspirators and Mother and I had been confined in since the night of our failed coup were half–drunk and the rest were well on their way – Binemwese, Peyes, Pendua, Pere, Heket, El–ram, Pebekkamen, Peynok, Weren, Mesedsure. Sympathetic per’aa staff had smuggled in every type of foodstuff imaginable for us, and countless jars of wine and beer, not just tonight but every night since our arrest. The rest of my fellow conspirators – harem women and low–rankin
g officials and servants – were being held in a different section of the per’aa. I assumed they’d been subsisting on far less.
For the past week Mother and I had stood side by side all day long in Djeme’s audience hall watching the judges of the Great Kenbet question everyone who’d participated in our conspiracy. Every person so far had confessed what they’d done, some quickly, some not. Guards had beat confessions from Peyes and Pebekkamen and Binemwese – Peyes, Ramesses’ deputy, hadn’t uttered a single word until guards turned their sticks from his back to the soles of his feet. He was presently seated in a leather chair, his feet bandaged, unable to walk. Heket was waiting on him, offering a plate of delicacies. Lesser men, and Heket, had yielded to the judges more easily, cowed by the suffering they’d witnessed. I didn’t hold it against any of them.
Ramesses had watched the entire trial, grim–faced, silent, sitting his throne atop a raised dais directly behind the row of judges like a block of stone. He’d stared relentlessly at whoever was being questioned at the time, gripping his crook and flail so hard his knuckles were usually white. Iset and Tyti and Duatentopet had flanked him. The rest of the royal family had been seated perpendicular to one end of the row of judges – my half–brothers and their wives and nieces and nephews.
And Neset. She hadn’t looked at me even once. I hadn’t been able to keep my eyes off her, especially the scar so white against her dark skin. I’d been in agony, after we were all apprehended, learning she’d been stabbed, learning the healers doubted she’d survive, being unable to go to her. If she’d just stayed in my bed that night... She wouldn’t have overheard me and the others talking in the garden. She wouldn’t have warned Ramesses. She wouldn’t have been stabbed. He’d be dead. The conspiracy would have succeeded. I’d be Pharaoh. She’d be my wife. Neset had dreamed Ramesses would be convicted of murdering Father. Mother and I had tried to take advantage of her dream. Her dream had been so wrong.
“The Great Kenbet will render its verdicts tomorrow, after the judges question you and me,” I reminded Mother harshly. “Peyes and El–ram and six others have confessed to colluding with Pebekkamen, your right hand man. Peynok and Pendua have confessed to making common cause with him. Binemwese has confessed he didn’t report the letter his sister Heket wrote to incite rebellion. Six harem inspectors and a butler have admitted they heard harem women discussing what was going to happen and hadn’t reported them. Four men have confessed they heard Pebekkamen discussing the attack and hadn’t reported him.”
“Don’t forget – Penhuibin admitted to using magic, and Nebzefai and El–ram confessed they’d helped him,” Mother said.
“How can you be so calm!” I practically exploded.
“Don’t give up hope, Pentawere. The trial’s not over yet.”
“Not over? Everyone’s confessed except us! Hope indeed. Once the judges are done with us…”
“Once they play into our hands, you mean,” Mother said.
She was delusional. We weren’t in control of this trial. “Everyone who’s confessed admitted you and I led the conspiracy to kill Ramesses and Father. Even if we refuse to answer the judges’ questions tomorrow they’ll execute us.”
“Refuse? We’re going to admit we tried to kill Ramesses,” Mother said. “With pride! With righteousness! By the time we’re done ‘confessing’ the judges will believe we were desperately trying to protect your father from Ramesses. They’ll believe our coup was justified. They’ll sentence Ramesses to death, just like in Neset’s dream.”
“Impossible!”
The door opened. Teynakhte poked his head into the room. Somehow, he’d escaped being named a conspirator by anyone, probably because only Peyes and Binemwese and I knew he’d participated in the coup. Because he was currently the senior military officer at Djeme, the unwitting Ramesses had put him in charge of guarding we prisoners. The soldiers outside our room were his – Binemwese’s, actually. They’d let Teynakhte come and go freely the past weeks. Mother had kept Teynakhte busy running secret errands. He spotted her. “I’ve brought them, Majesty.”
Six women wearing only sheer skirts slipped into the room. Teynakhte hurriedly closed the door behind them. My wife Naqi’a and her translator Abi–rami, and wives of four of the six harem inspectors who were confined in nearby rooms. All were very pretty. Four made a beeline for the wine. My wife and her translator stood riveted in place just inside the door, wide–eyed, scared.
“What are they doing here?” I asked Mother.
“Saving our lives.”
“How?”
“You’ll see.” She corralled the women. “You all know what you’re supposed to do?”
“Yes, Majesty,” Abi–rami replied. “Teynakhte told us.”
The rest nodded.
“Remember – fail and your husbands die.”
One, Kerpes’ wife, if I recalled correctly, broke into sobs. Khamopet’s wife put her arms around her shoulders.
The door opened again. Oneney, chief of police on the west bank, ushered two men into the room. He hadn’t been part of the conspiracy, but he’d been my friend for years and was apparently helping Mother execute her scheme to free us, whatever it was. I recognized the men he’d brought with a start – Mai and Pebes. Judges of the Great Kenbet.
Mother nodded and the six women, and Heket, converged on the judges, taking hold of their arms, cooing seductively. The judges’ confusion and embarrassment was evident.
“Thank you for coming,” Mother said.
“We shouldn’t be here,” Mai said nervously, his eyes darting around the room. Sweat began beading on his brow.
Pebes looked scared. “Oneney summoned us on an urgent matter. He didn’t say he was bringing us to you.”
Mother nodded at Abi–rami.
Abi–rami turned Pebes’ face to hers with her fingers and soundly kissed him.
He stepped backwards, startled.
“Yet here you are,” Mother said. Her voice hardened. “And the damage is done. You can’t leave now. All those guards in the hall? They’ll testify you were here – if I tell them to. They’ll say nothing – if I tell them not to. If your fellow judges discover you came to visit these rooms they’ll jump to the conclusion you’ve been conspiring with us. I’ll tell them you came seeking a bribe in exchange for our freedom. You’ll be executed. So, since you’re here, you might as well turn it to your advantage. Help us tomorrow. You’ll earn a substantial reward if we live.”
“What can the two of us possibly do?” Pebes asked, skeptical. “There are eleven more judges. And Pharaoh.”
“Pharaoh? Bah!” Mother hissed contemptuously. “Ramesses turned our fate over to the Kenbet. He’s afraid to judge us himself. He’s weak. It’s you judges who count, not him. So sway the rest.”
“How would we do that?” asked Mai.
Kerpes’ wife was hanging all over him now. And Naqi’a. I had a feeling she wasn’t going to be a virgin very much longer.
“Tomorrow, when I’m being questioned, I’ll mention a dream Neset had. I want both of you to insist that Neset relate her dream to you judges.”
“That’s all?” Pebes queried.
“Simple, isn’t it? Then, support my interpretation of her dream. Gain us our freedom and the two of you will rise high in Pentawere’s court. He’ll appoint you to any position in the land you desire – high priests of the great gods, perhaps?”
Mai and Pebes looked at each other. They were trapped. They were opportunistic. “As you wish, Majesty.”
“Good! Now, enjoy yourselves.”
At another nod from Mother the seven women took hold of the judges’ arms and hands and practically dragged them into an adjacent room. Neither resisted.
“Fetch her,” Mother ordered Oneney.
“Yes, Majesty.” He left.
“You’re counting on two seduced judges to free us, Mother?” I muttered in disbelief.
Lilting laughter drifted from the other room.
“Two more than
we had on our side an hour ago,” she said matter–of–factly.
I shook my head, headed to the jars of wine, poured a cup, seated myself, drank it down, refilled it. This was going to be my last night on earth. I was half–tempted to go into the other room and drag my wife away from the judges and take her into an empty room and lose myself in oblivion. But even now I couldn’t make myself be with that wretch.
Then the door opened and Oneney led Neset into the room.
My heart almost stopped. I’d never expected to see her again and here she was, on the very eve of my death. The woman Mother had sent for. Why?
She stood beside Oneney stiffly, glanced around this room, caught sight of the tangle of naked bodies in the other room through the open door, turned away in disgust.
I rushed across the room, tried to take her in my arms.
Neset rebuffed me. “How could you!” she exclaimed, eyes blazing.
I stepped back, hurt.
Mother moved beside us. “We did what we had to do, Neset. Now you have to save us.”
“Me? You’re insane!”
“You can put Pentawere on the throne,” Mother said evenly. “You can be the mother of his successor.”
A strange look crossed Neset’s face. Then she stiffened. “Pentawere won’t have a successor because he won’t be Pharaoh.”
“He will. All you have to do is stand behind what you saw in your dream.”
“But Ramesses didn’t kill Pharaoh. You two did!” She glared at Mother, then me.
“You dreamed of the Great Kenbet convicting Ramesses, Neset,” Mother said firmly. “No one’s been convicted yet because we haven’t reached the part of the trial you foresaw in your dream. Did you or did you not tell me the dreams given the talisman bearer always come true?”
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 62
