The soldier sighed wearily. He’d apparently been standing guard all night. “Go ahead.”
Beketaten and I decorated the dais, as we had for the fourth Ramesses’ progression. The court had been cleaned and put into shape under Ani’s direction after he’d received Pharaoh’s message. All of us from the estate had helped.
By the time we finished decorating, residents of Nekhen and the nearby valley were already filing into the oval and staking out places. Beketaten departed, for she’d participate in the ceremony as a chantress. I slipped into the growing crowd, close enough to see what was going on, but not where anyone important could catch sight of me.
Several hours later the ceremony finally began. I studied the royals as they entered the court and processed through the center of the crowd to seats shaded by large sunscreens on the right side of the dais – Duatentopet, the fourth Ramesses’ sister and widow, clearly in mourning; Amenherkoshef, the new pharaoh’s uncle; his wife Nubkhesbed and their young son Itamun; Setherkopshef, the youngest uncle; Pharaoh’s wives Henutwati and Tawerettenru. I hadn’t seen any of the royals in more than five and a half years, since the trial of the conspirators. Pharaoh and his wives had still been in their teens then. Duatentopet was nearly fifty now, I calculated. I wondered which of the lines on her face were due to age and which to grief. I wished I could express my condolences to her, but that was of course impossible. They all settled into their seats while officials took theirs under a similar sunscreen to the left of the dais.
Chantresses slipped into the court through the ancient derelict monumental entrance, shaking menat necklaces, banging together ivory clappers, singing ancient songs. They were led by Mutemwia and Aatmeret, wife and daughter respectively of Horus’ high priest. Beketaten and Iput were among the chantresses. The women were followed by a bevy of priests, including Ani. Then came Nebmose and Setau, high priests of Horus and Nekhbet, and finally Pharaoh. He looked haggard and was unshaven and dressed simply, as his father had been during the mourning period for the third Ramesses. He made his way to the flower–bedecked dais and seated himself on one of the two thrones.
Kairy was nowhere in sight. This was not the day of the challenge. I made my way through the crowd and exited the court and headed home. There was no point in staying for the actual ceremony. The risk of being recognized was too great.
1145 BC: 4th Regnal Year of Ramesses, Fifth of His Name
Peret (Seed)
Neset
“Race you to the top, Mama!”
Aya sped gracefully up the side of the rock outcrop at the head of the wadi path near Nekhen’s ancient rulers’ cemetery, her feet and hands barely resting on the hand and footholds.
I didn’t try to race. Aya was more than a quarter century younger than me and what was the point of being embarrassed by an eight year–old? She was already sitting at the edge of the outcrop when I gained the top, her feet dangling over the edge, her long curly red hair swirling in the breeze and caressing her bare shoulders, her skin golden in the slanting late afternoon sunlight spilling across the valley and river. She was already taller than most children her age and promised someday to be willowy. I saw Pentawere in her, both her features and her bearing – she’d inherited all of his good qualities and none of his bad. Aya was friendly, engaging, curious, full of ideas. She had Pentawere’s presence too; everyone her age and many who were older gravitated to her. But unlike Pentawere, Aya was a realist, not a dreamer.
As we did on occasion, we’d spent the day searching the heights overlooking Nekhen for ancient rock etchings. They, like the kiln on the heights, connected us to our ancestors who’d lived here millennia ago. They too had been fascinated by the images, according to family stories. As I’d watched Aya scramble among the rocks I couldn’t help reflect on the differences in our childhoods – me, confined within the walls of Ta Set Maat, dreaming of roaming the portion of the valley visible beyond my rooftop, experiencing it only when helping Grandfather work in his gardens, Aya exploring a river and valley and heights and wide–open spaces at will. I’d grown up seeing in the distance opulent Ipet–Isut and Ipet–resyt and Djeme and the memorial temples of the god–kings, omnipresent symbols of a mighty pantheon; for Aya there was the simplicity of a falcon high overhead, the god of her ancestors, a soaring blur against blue sky. I’d grown up lonely, an only child. Aya was part of a large and boisterous family.
We lingered as the sun dipped below the rim of the plateau at our backs. Lights began winking on in Nekhen’s and Nekheb’s houses and in scattered farm huts on both sides of the river. Our estate was too far upriver to see, but I pictured Ani and Beketaten and Iput and daughters and husbands and children and workers gathered around campfires, eating and talking and laughing and generally enjoying each others’ company. The extended family into which we’d been adopted was growing, almost daily it sometimes seemed. Ani and Beketaten had four daughters now. All but two of Iput’s daughters were married; she had a flock of grandchildren from the three with husbands.
Before long a river of stars brightened, sweeping across the firmament above us. Then the moon rose, silvering the river, illuminating Nekhen’s town wall and the mysterious mud–brick enclosure of King Khasekhemwy. I couldn’t help think about all my ancestors who’d sat atop this very outcrop so long ago, when Nekhen’s huts sprawled haphazardly across the plain between the oval court and the cultivation and on the now–abandoned upper terrace to our right, centuries before the town wall and the enclosure had even been imagined, much less constructed.
I gazed at Aya. She was so carefree and innocent. So far, I’d never told her why we’d settled in Nekhen and why I was always so careful about where I went and who saw me. My encounter with Nakhtamen had scared me. I’d realized even before that day that someone might recognize me at any time and drag me to Djeme to be executed. Every day that went by increased that risk. So, now that Aya was eight, it was time she knew truths I’d kept hidden from her. Beketaten knew those truths, and would tell them to Aya if something ever happened to me. But I wanted my daughter to hear them from my lips.
“It’s time for me to tell you the only family story you don’t yet know, Aya.”
“Yours, Mama?” she guessed.
“And yours.” I grasped the talisman. “I was married when I was twelve to a much older man, Aya. His name was Mesedptah. I was barely twenty when he was caught robbing the tomb of Ramesses the Great.”
Aya gasped.
“He was sentenced to death by Pentawere, a younger son of the third Ramesses, who happened to be presiding over a Great Kenbet in Djeme. After Mesedptah was executed I went to live with my grandfather. Grandfather put me to work as a gardener. Several years later I met the third Ramesses by chance and he appointed me overseer of his garden in Djeme. It’s a long story that I’ll tell you later. Anyway, I later encountered Pentawere during a festival in Pi–Ramesses. He showed me around the city and took me to a banquet in Pharaoh’s per’aa. Eventually, we fell in love. We hoped we’d someday be allowed to marry, impossible as that seemed – a pharaoh’s son and a gardener. Unfortunately, Pentawere was very ambitious. He was jealous of his brother, the fourth Ramesses, who’d been crowned as his father’s co–ruler. Unbeknownst to me, Pentawere began plotting to seize the throne. One night he and more than thirty conspirators – including his mother – murdered his father and tried to murder his brother. I was nearly killed keeping the fourth Ramesses from being stabbed.”
Aya gazed at me solemnly. “Is that why there’s a scar on your chest?”
I nodded. “I’ll tell you about that night later. It’s an awful tale.” I paused, stroked Aya’s cheek. “The worst part is that years before it happened I knew Pharaoh was going to be assassinated.”
“You had a dream, just like Tiaa and Maetkra and Amenia,” Aya inferred.
“I did. The falcon god warned me that the fourth Ramesses was going to be convicted of killing his father.”
“But you said Pentawere did it.”<
br />
“Yes. I didn’t truly understand my dream until months after Pharaoh was murdered. I finally realized what it meant during the trial of the conspirators. Pentawere and his mother, Tiye, and the rest were about to be convicted. To save herself, Tiye accused me and the fourth Ramesses of being the actual murderers and conspiring to pin our crime on her and Pentawere. Suddenly I found myself being questioned by the judges. They ordered a guard to get a confession from me.”
Aya’s eyes widened. “You mean, they ordered you to be beaten?”
“Yes. You see, the judges didn’t really care about me. They wanted to question the fourth Ramesses. But they couldn’t question a royal. So they used me as his substitute. I realized that if I maintained my innocence the guard would beat me unconscious and the judges would take that as a sign that Ramesses was guilty, as Tiye had accused. I understood the true meaning of my dream then. As you’re aware, Horus – the falcon god, the god of our family – is the protector of pharaohs. He’s often used members of our family as his tool to protect kings and pharaohs from harm. That’s what I was at that moment, Aya – the god’s tool to save the fourth Ramesses and his line. So I lied to the Great Kenbet. I confessed that Pentawere and Tiye and I had conspired to kill the third Ramesses. Because of my testimony, the Great Kenbet convicted all three of us. The fourth Ramesses was spared. Pentawere and Tiye and the other conspirators were sentenced to death and executed. I was sentenced too, but temporarily spared.”
Aya’s eyes were wide. “Why?”
“Because Iset, the third Ramesses’ wife and God’s Wife of Amen, said the judges couldn’t take an innocent life along with mine. That innocent life was you, Aya. I was pregnant.”
“Pentawere was my father?”
“Yes. The blood that flows through your veins is royal. Your grandfather was the third Ramesses.”
I could tell Aya was having a hard time processing what I was telling her. “But you’re alive, Mama. Why didn’t they kill you?”
“They certainly intended to. They imprisoned me on my estate outside Waset, awaiting your birth. My jailor was a man named Kairy. Ani and Iput’s brother.”
“They’ve never mentioned him.”
“That’s because the fourth Ramesses proclaimed Kairy to be a traitor. Pharaoh’s soldiers are hunting him.”
“Why?”
“Because a couple of hours after you were born Kairy delivered a boy he claimed was my son to a group of traitors who want to someday overthrow Pharaoh. He did it shortly after he’d sent you and me to safety in Nekhen and faked my death by burning someone else’s body in my place.”
“Why did Kairy deliver a boy to traitors?”
“It turns out the fourth Ramesses and his vizier and Kairy had devised a plan to identify and capture the traitors, which I only found out about recently. Kairy was supposed to deliver the boy to them, then pretend to adopt their cause and live among them as a fellow traitor. As soon as he discovered the names of the leaders he was supposed to report to Pharaoh so they could be arrested.”
“Did he?”
“Not so far. And I’m not sure he will, Aya.”
“Why not?”
“When I was imprisoned on my estate the falcon god sent me another dream.”
“But I thought no one ever received more than one.”
“So did I. But not any more. In my dream I saw a pharaoh I didn’t recognize presiding over a celebration in Nekhen’s oval court. During the celebration a priest confronted Pharaoh along with a boy he claimed was the valley’s rightful ruler. Kairy was standing next to them. The priest ordered Kairy to confirm that the boy was Pentawere’s son.”
“What happened then, Mama?”
“I don’t know, Aya. I was awakened by a kidnapper at that very moment.”
“Kidnapper?”
“Another story for another time. Anyway, the falcon god never sent me the dream again. I don’t know how it turns out, so I don’t know what Kairy’s going to say in the oval court. All I know for sure is that the boy and Kairy and a traitorous priest will confront Pharaoh at Nekhen some day. When that happens, according to what I’ve recently learned, Kairy’s supposed to kill the boy at Pharaoh’s order. If Kairy does, that’ll end the threat to Pharaoh’s line.”
“But it won’t, really,” Aya said. “I’m alive. I’ll be the threat.”
“If Kairy kills the boy in front of witnesses no one will ever guess either of us is alive. In that case you won’t be a threat. But there’s another possibility, Aya, a bad one. Kairy may have actually joined the traitors. He may intend to put the boy on the throne in return for a fabulous reward. In that case it’ll be up to me to stop the pretender and preserve Pharaoh’s line.”
“How?”
“I don’t have the slightest idea.”
“Would the falcon god let a boy without royal blood take the throne?” Aya asked.
“Doubtful. But sometimes men ignore gods.”
Aya stared out over the valley for a very long time. “Is that why you wear a wig all the time, Mama, so no one will recognize you?”
“Kairy saved me from execution, Aya. I wasn’t pardoned. If I’m ever discovered I’ll be sent back to Djeme and burned alive.”
Aya gasped. “Why did Pharaoh let the judges sentence you to die after you’d saved him?” She stared at my scar. “Twice.”
“If he’d tried to pardon me his enemies would’ve claimed the two of us had conspired to kill his father. He and I would’ve been executed and there’d have been a fight for the throne. As it turns out, not all of Pentawere’s conspirators were identified before the trial. While I was imprisoned they tried to kidnap me.”
“The story you’re going to tell me.”
“Yes.”
“What kind of man is Kairy, Mama?”
“The first time I met him he was driving the fourth Ramesses’ chariot. They were friends. Remember the story of Tiaa making a man named Kairy the first ruler of this part of the valley?”
“Of course.”
“Kairy’s descended from Tiaa’s daughter. We’re descended from her son. So we’re related through Tiaa.”
“I’m Ahmes–Nefertari’s cousin for real, and everyone else on the estate?”
“You are. But what kind of man is Kairy? I honestly don’t know, Aya. When I was imprisoned on my estate he used me as bait without my knowledge so he could catch some traitors. He put the lives of your aunts Beketaten and Iput at risk. I was furious with him for that. But then he risked his life to save you and me. And now he’s either trying to preserve Pharaoh’s line or put someone else on the throne.”
“What about my father?”
“You’re very much like him, Aya. He had a commanding presence. Everyone wanted to be his friend. He was kind and generous. Unfortunately, he was overly ambitious. I still haven’t figured out if it was his idea to murder his father, or his mother’s. He’d never given me a hint he was going to. Your grandmother Tiye was a truly evil woman.”
“Did you love him?”
“Very much. I still do, a little. I try to remember the man he was before he let ambition take control of his life and set awful events in motion.”
“Why did he betray his father?”
“Pentawere spent his entire life craving things he couldn’t have – command of Pharaoh’s army, me, the throne. There came a time when he had to choose between two things he craved that were actually within his grasp – me and the crown. He chose the one he wanted more. His pursuit of the crown led to his death and that of so many others.”
“When do you think the traitors will come here and try to seize the throne?”
“Several years from now, based on the age of the boy in my dream.”
Aya embraced me. “Thanks for telling me all this, Mama.”
“I know it’s a lot to take in, Aya. But you must keep what I told you a secret between you and me. As I said, if I’m discovered I’ll be executed. And if you’re discovered by traitors – if they some
how find out you’re Pentawere’s child – one of them might try to marry you so they can claim the throne through you – or your child. Which is why the vizier wants you dead.”
Aya gave me a funny look. Then she leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I’ll keep the secret, Mama.”
1144 BC: 5th Regnal Year of Ramesses, Fifth of His Name
Shemu (Harvest)
Kairy
“Something’s up. Something big,” Debhen said, squinting against the sun. “The priest leading the caravan? That’s Sabestet. I had no idea a man of his stature is involved in our conspiracy.”
I was waiting with Debhen at the edge of the settlement. We’d forged a decent relationship the past four years due to my work with the mercenaries. I’d made three trips south of the cataract so far to recruit men and spent the months I resided in the village training them. Though I technically reported to Nehi, he left me entirely to my own devices, dealing directly only with his favored soldiers from the delta. Whenever he deigned to interact with the mercenaries he ridiculed or harassed them. He’d alienated each and every one. Debhen had given up trying to get Nehi to do any work at all, and so consulted me on military issues.
A lookout had brought word of the caravan’s approach an hour after dawn. Neby was riding beside Sabestet, both astride fine black stallions. I remembered Sabestet from Pi–Ramesses – I’d attended numerous parties at his villa along with the Falcon in the Nest. Behind them were two girls astride donkeys – from their size I guessed both were in their mid–teens, though they were so swaddled against the dust and heat I couldn’t see their faces. A dozen women and girls were plodding behind them on foot, equally swaddled, just ahead of the usual donkeys laden with supplies. The females on foot were clearly servants of some kind. Neby’s order during his last supply run for me to construct an additional village on the west side of our lake suddenly made sense.
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 80
