The Gardener and the Assassin

by Mark Gajewski

  “I don’t want to pretend, Kairy,” Maia declared.

  Confirmation.

  “I want to be your wife for real.”

  I was stunned.

  “I love you, Kairy. I have for a long time.”

  My heart began to beat faster. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I sat up. Maia took my hands in hers. “How is it possible, Maia? I uprooted you from the valley. I forced you to come here and live among traitors. I’m forcing you to pretend Pentawere isn’t your son. And I’m so much older.”

  “Age doesn’t matter. What’s a decade? As far as the village – I know it’s dangerous. But my life would have been horrible in Waset. I’ve been happy this past year, with Pentawere and you, happier than I’ve ever been my entire life.” She leaned close. “Could you ever love me, Kairy?” she asked plaintively.

  “I do love you, Maia. I have for a long time.”

  She squeezed my hands. “Truly?”

  I’d kept a secret from Neset. That had been a mistake. She hated me now. I’d been keeping a much worse secret from Maia. I’d been living a lie. I couldn’t let her love me, knowing she’d someday discover I’d lied and be devastated. I had to confess, so she wouldn’t waste her love on me. I pulled my hands away. “I’m not worthy of you, Maia. I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

  She stiffened. “About what?”

  “Pentawere.”

  “What about Pentawere?”

  “When Pharaoh sent me on this mission, he and I discussed two possible outcomes. The first was that I’d be able to identify the traitors and escape wherever they were hiding and report their names to him. The second was that I wouldn’t be able to identify all the traitors until the day they challenged Pharaoh for his throne face to face.”

  “What does that have to do with Pentawere?”

  “Pharaoh ordered me to kill Pentawere, either when I escape the traitors or when they challenge him.”

  Maia gasped, tensed. “But you love Pentawere, Kairy! How could you have agreed?”

  “At the time Pentawere was an unborn nameless boy, the son of a traitor. It was easy.”

  “But now?”

  “I do love Pentawere. As you said.”

  I sensed her anguish. “So what are you going to do, Kairy? Kill my son anyway, as you promised Pharaoh?”

  “No. I’ve figured out a way for all three of us to escape this village and cross the desert and reach Djeme, assuming I discover all the traitors’ names before they challenge Pharaoh directly.”

  “Discover their names? That’s unlikely, as secretive as these traitors are, Kairy. After a year, the only traitor leaders we know for sure are Nehi and Neby.”

  “And Neby’s father, Antef.”

  “It’s more likely the key traitors will stay out of sight until the day they publicly challenge Pharaoh. So what will you do in that case, Kairy?”

  “Assuming Pharaoh is protected by soldiers, I’ll announce that Neset’s son died and I substituted a farmer’s son to fool the traitors. The priests’ conspiracy will fail. Pharaoh will keep his throne. Pentawere will be safe.”

  “But what if Pharaoh’s undefended?”

  “If I make the same announcement, the traitors will simply kill Pharaoh and take his throne for themselves. They’ll kill me for sure, for tricking them. Only the gods know what they’ll do to Pentawere, since they won’t need him anymore.”

  “So in that case…”

  I didn’t hesitate. “I’ll announce that Pentawere is Neset’s son and the valley’s rightful ruler,” I vowed. “I’ll betray Pharaoh to save Pentawere. I’ve pledged Pharaoh my fealty, Maia, but it doesn’t really matter to people like you and me who sits the valley’s throne. But your life and Pentawere’s do matter to me. More than anything.”

  There was a long difficult pause. I couldn’t see Maia’s face in the darkness. Probably lucky for me. I didn’t have to see the disappointment in her eyes. Or, more likely, righteous anger. Or hatred.

  “I understand if you want to change our arrangement, Maia. I understand if you want me to keep my distance from now on.” I started to rise so I could drag my pallet outside.

  She grasped my arm, pulled me down. “I understand why you never told me, Kairy. I don’t like it, but I understand.” She took my hands in hers again and raised my fingers to her lips and kissed them. “What matters is you’d never have gone through with it. You might have thought you would when you promised Pharaoh, but you wouldn’t have. No matter whose son you’d used. That’s not the kind of man you are. Being with you this past year’s taught me that. I knew the kind of man you were long before the night we delivered Pentawere to Neby. You showed me your true colors the months before my son was born. You could have killed me because of Alara’s crime, or taken advantage of me. You didn’t. You took care of me instead. That’s why I went along with you that night in the birth bower, not because of my duty to Pharaoh.”

  “Maia…”

  “You saved me and Pentawere from only the gods know what fate, Kairy. I’ve been happier this past year than I’ve ever been in my life. What you told me just now doesn’t change how I feel about you.” She let go of my hands, then lay down and stretched out on my pallet. She raised her arms. “Come to me, My Love.”

  I did.

  1150 BC: 4th Regnal Year of Ramesses, Fourth of His Name

  Shemu (Harvest)

  Neset

  “I can’t take charge of the girls at the riverside market tomorrow, Neset,” Iput said. “Not with Beketaten so close to her time. Will you do it?”

  Beketaten was stretched out on her pallet in the room we women shared in our wing of the house, her hands resting lightly on her extended stomach. Iput’s youngest daughter, Amenia, was sprinkling water on the floor to settle the dust; her next oldest, Ipu, was following close behind, sweeping with a short–handled broom made of stiff vegetable fibers. The estate’s house was Iput’s bailiwick, and the two girls, both too young to be married, were responsible for cleaning it daily.

  I felt a sudden tightening in my chest. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d left the safety of the estate and gone into Nekhen the past three years. I’d escaped death by fleeing here along with Aya, but being discovered and having the sentence of the Great Kenbet carried out remained a very real possibility that hung over my head every single day. Nekhen was a sacred place, visited by countless pilgrims and priests and officials seeking the blessing of Horus. Going into town and encountering someone from Waset who might recognize me was a risk I rarely took. Even on the estate I was constantly looking over my shoulder, panicking at every unexpected sound. I wore a dark wig any time I left the women’s room – red hair was far too rare and conspicuous in this valley, a beacon to draw attention to me.

  I hated that Ani and Iput and Beketaten and their families had to lay low and be vigilant too. Their lives were in danger because I lived on their estate. Ani no longer went to Waset to fetch the temple’s supplies; he sent one of the other minor priests instead. As Kairy’s brother, he’d become a pariah. Everyone in the valley considered Kairy to be a traitor. Pilgrims had carried shocking news to Nekhen of what he’d done the night of my escape – he’d burned the body of the great criminal, who’d died in childbirth, then kidnapped her son and carried him away. Rumor was he intended to use Pentawere’s son to challenge Pharaoh for his throne. Pharaoh had sent soldiers the length and breadth of the valley to find him, but even after three years of searching they’d never discovered a single trace. Many were convinced Kairy had been helped to disappear. Men whispered darkly of another conspiracy hiding in the shadows, awaiting the right moment to be unleashed and remove Pharaoh.

  I knew the whispers were correct. Though the details of what had happened the night of my escape were mostly wrong, there was indeed a conspiracy to overthrow Pharaoh, led by a priest. And Kairy was deeply involved.

  Obviously, Ani and Iput and Beketaten and I knew Kairy had burned someone else’s body that n
ight and kidnapped some other woman’s son to pass off as mine. Though we had no idea who he’d burned or whose son he’d taken. Ani initially speculated that Kairy had burned and kidnapped specifically to throw pursuers off our trail – no one would have had reason to search the valley for a supposedly dead woman or her daughter. That was, in fact, the effect of what Kairy had done. He’d earned us our freedom that night, which we’d kept so far. But I’d felt compelled to tell Ani and the others about my dream, about Kairy and a priest standing beside a boy in Nekhen’s oval court and challenging Pharaoh for his throne. The falcon god’s dreams always came true. Kairy had kidnapped a boy. Everyone in the valley was convinced the boy was Pentawere’s and my son. Kairy and his priest had the perfect candidate with which to challenge Pharaoh. It was clear to me that Kairy had turned on Pharaoh. The stories about the intensity of his argument with Pharaoh in the audience hall a few days after the kidnapping attempt had not been exaggerated, as he’d claimed. Throwing pursuers off my and Aya’s scent might have been the outcome of what Kairy had done, but it hadn’t been his reason for doing it. I had to conclude that if Aya had been a boy Kairy would have let me be executed and would have taken my son to use for his own insane purposes. Thank the gods Aya was a girl.

  Because the falcon god had sent me a dream warning about what Kairy was going to do, I was forced to conclude that I was the one the god expected to stop Kairy and preserve Pharaoh’s line. Again. Though I had no idea how, or if I’d succeed. In the worst case, the god was simply showing me what was going to happen and there was nothing I could do to change the outcome. I hadn’t seen myself in my dream, after all. I was convinced deep down that there was more to my dream, containing vital clues about what I was suppose to do. Frustratingly, unlike the dream about the fourth Ramesses, I’d never had the second one again. I was operating blindly where Pharaoh’s future was concerned. All I knew for sure was that I was in Nekhen, the place Kairy would issue his challenge. That was very little to go on.

  “Of course I’ll do it,” I assured Iput.

  “Take some of everything we produce on the estate. At this time of year vessels are carrying stone quarried at Abu to Waset and localities in the North. Many sailors will want to convert their grain and beer rations into other foodstuffs and necessities. You should be able to barter most of our excess.”

  I bent and kissed Beketaten on the brow, then passed from the women’s quarters into the common area and then onto the veranda that stretched across the side of the house facing east towards the river. A large garden reached from the edge of the veranda nearly to the palm–lined riverbank, flanked on both sides by extensive fields of emmer and barley. The section of the garden closest to the house contained a small pool and many colorful flowers and acacia and willow trees; we used the rest to grow vegetables. A little south of the house, on the crest of a rise safe from the waters of the inundation, were a number of clay granaries where we stored our harvested grain. To the north were the huts of the farmers and herdsmen and fishermen and others who worked for us on the estate, and beyond them a small orchard. Pharaoh had been generous gifting this estate to Kairy, though it had been quite rundown at the time; in the past three years Ani and Beketaten and Iput and I had made something of it. Surprisingly, Pharaoh hadn’t confiscated the estate from Kairy’s family after he’d turned traitor. I expected it had been an oversight by Ramesses.

  We’d arrived here after my escape from death in the midst of planting season. Ani had resumed his duties in the temple in Nekhen. Beketaten and I had overseen the sowing of emmer on the plain along the river and the planting of the garden extending east from the hut that was far too small to hold Ani and Beketaten and Iput’s family and me and Aya comfortably. Some of us had slept outside in lean–tos. Farmers and servants had been part of Pharaoh’s grant, and they’d labored under our direction from sunup to sundown the entire season. We’d had no time to erect a proper house for ourselves – that had waited until the next inundation receded. We’d immediately constructed a proper quay for our fishing punts, though, and had obtained a few cattle and sheep and goats to graze on the bottomlands. Now, three years later, our estate was the largest and most productive in the area. We always had excess to barter at the market, beyond what it took to feed ourselves and our workers and supply to Pharaoh as his share. All of that went to Horus’ temple in Nekhen.

  After the first inundation we’d erected a mud–brick house large enough for Iput and her daughters and the husbands of the three oldest and Ani and Beketaten and Aya and me. Even now a few men were making mud bricks and piling them near the house for another planned extension. Iput’s daughters were beginning to have children, and another of Beketaten’s was on the way.

  I spied Aya in a corner of the garden, nearly hidden by a patch of tall yellow flowers, using a wooden hoe to dig out weeds. She was three now, and industrious. She’d inherited Grandfather’s and my ability to grow plants. Ahmes–Nefertari, Beketaten’s two year–old, was trying her best to imitate Aya, though she was mostly just pushing around clods of dirt. I couldn’t help smile; the two girls were practically inseparable and were the darlings of Iput’s older girls. Aya was growing up surrounded by a love and warmth I’d craved my whole life but had never experienced.

  I called to several of the women who worked beside me in the garden daily. “Market’s tomorrow.” We went up and down the rows – radishes, pulses, onions, garlic and leeks, melons, cucumbers. I pointed out everything that was ready to harvest. They immediately began to fill containers.

  Then I strolled towards the river, intent on visiting all of our overseers and arranging the rest of our goods. I passed women and men toiling in the fields, singing folk songs as they worked. Tiaa, Iput’s oldest, was overseeing serving girls doing the family laundry down by the river. Dirty garments spilled out of several baskets, awaiting washing. A few girls were applying natron soap to skirts and kilts. A very large jar of water was boiling atop a crackling fire; a girl was stirring the garments inside with a wooden paddle. Another girl was rinsing already–boiled garments in the river. One sunny stretch of the bank was covered with linen that had been washed and was now drying and bleaching in the sun. Later today, once everything was dry, the girls would iron or smooth everything, fold it, and return it to the proper storage chests in the house.

  I moved south along the riverbank towards the quay. Six fishing punts were drawn up there. Sometimes our fishermen used a net strung between two punts to haul in their catch; sometimes they speared fish with bidents. I recalled the week after the last inundation receded, when everyone on the estate had swarmed the muddy fields, picking up the fish left stranded in small pools and putting them in baskets. Afterwards, we’d split them in half and either dried them on wooden racks or smoked them or salted them.

  “Good morning, Neset.”

  “And to you, Makatre.” He was Bakist’s husband, in charge of our fishermen. “I’ll need dried fish for the market tomorrow.”

  “How many containers?”

  “Three or four.”

  “Very good. By the way, my men brought in a perch a while ago. At least a hundred pounds. We’ll have grilled fish for dinner tonight.”

  “Excellent.”

  I headed towards the bottomlands where we grazed our livestock. A few dogs were dashing about, helping boys who were moving sheep to a new pasture.

  “How are our beasts doing, Kama?” I asked as he came to meet me, wiping sweat from his brow. He was Tiaa’s husband.

  “Fat and multiplying.”

  “I’ll need fresh milk, cheese, some of our store of dried meat, and leather for the market tomorrow.”

  “How many donkeys will you require to carry everything?”

  “I have no idea. How many does Iput usually ask you for?”

  “A dozen.”

  “A dozen it is.”

  I went next to the section of the ridge where we kept our fowl.

  “Auntie Neset!” Abar exclaimed. At sixteen,
she was in charge of the pens filled with ducks and geese, and the dovecotes that housed our doves and pigeons, and the wooden cages where we fattened wild fowl we’d caught in riverside thickets.

  “You’re coming with me to the market tomorrow, aren’t you?” I asked.

  “Of course. What shall I bring?”

  “Several dozen of the doves and pigeons and wild fowl. And all the excess eggs. I’ll be down to help you gather them in the morning.”

  I proceeded to the rear of the house, where our baking ovens were located. Several women were busy there, sweating in the heat. There was already a substantial pile of loaves of various sizes, as well as honeyed cakes and other delicacies. They seemed to have everything well in hand.

  I picked out bolts of linen from wooden chests. They’d been produced by weavers overseen by Prenakht, Abar’s husband. I spoke with the beekeeper, and the carpenter, and the metalsmith, and the brewer and vintner, arranging to take not only what they’d produced, but finding out what they needed for their operations. By the end of the day I’d accumulated quite a collection of items for barter, along with an appreciation for what Iput did once every week.

  That evening we women, not just Iput and Beketaten and me, but the wives and daughters of our farmers and herdsmen and the rest, bathed in the river as usual, just a few paces from the birth bower I’d erected for Beketaten a week earlier close to the bank in a grove of palm trees. The day’s heat had broken and sunset’s afterglow still colored the sky. Stars were winking into the growing darkness directly overhead. A warm breeze made the palm fronds clack. A few night birds called and an occasional fish leapt out in the channel. Laughter and screams rang as the girls played and splashed and chased each other in and out of the water. From time to time someone broke into song, or an impromptu dance, and everyone joined in.

  “Tell us a story, Auntie Neset,” Amenia demanded after everyone had assembled on the riverbank to dry off.

  Others echoed her and gathered around me, just as the children of Ta Set Maat had on my roof so many years ago, when my life had been so much simpler.