The Gardener and the Assassin

by Mark Gajewski

  “Sit. I’m about to detail everyone’s role when we reach Nekhen,” Bek ordered.

  He sipped at his wine as I settled into my place. The girls began going down the row of priests, serving them. I was, of course, last.

  “The false pharaoh will be crowned in a ceremony in Nekhen’s oval court the day after tomorrow,” Bek began, facing Pentawere. “Before the high priest places the crown on his head, you and I, Majesty, will confront him. I will proclaim you the valley’s rightful ruler. The false pharaoh and his minions will, naturally, object.” Bek addressed me. “You, Kairy, will then testify that you took His Majesty from Neset’s birth bower and delivered him directly to Neby, that you’ve lived with him this past decade, and that he is in fact Pentawere, second of his name, the heir of Pentawere and Neset.”

  “Yes, My Lord.” I felt a tightening in my chest. I was on the brink of betraying Pharaoh to save Pentawere’s life. Inevitable, unless the mercenaries slipped away in the night. I’d tried to influence Ashemors and Karakhamen to that end. I had no idea if the seed I’d planted would take root or not.

  “Will any of Pharaoh’s officials know you?” Sabestet asked me.

  “The false pharaoh, the vizier, many officials. They’ve been hunting me for a decade, after all.” I laughed. “And many people in Nekhen. It’s where I was born.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Bek admitted. He turned to Nehi. “Tell the others the plan we’ve developed for our attack, Commander.”

  Nehi puffed up with self–importance. He enjoyed being the center of attention. “We’ll leave here at dawn and camp tomorrow night a mile from the river, four miles south of Nekhen. The following dawn, we’ll leave that camp and strike the river, then travel along its bank and arrange our force just out of sight of the ceremonial grounds. Once everyone has gathered to crown the false pharaoh my Northern soldiers will march directly to wherever he’s seated and arrest him and his family. His Majesty will then take the throne, and my men will protect him while My Lord Bek crowns him, and while he’s receiving the fealty of officials.”

  “Very good,” Bek said. “Do you all understand your roles?”

  “What about the mercenaries?” I asked.

  “Surround the grounds at a distance,” Nehi ordered. “Make sure you keep the wretches out of my way, Kairy. My men will do the important work.”

  “We will not fight for you.”

  Everyone turned around. Karakhamen and Ashemors were standing behind the priests, facing Bek. The seed I’d planted earlier in the afternoon had not only taken root, it had sprouted.

  “My men and I are going home first thing in the morning,” Karakhamen calmly announced.

  Nehi rose, whip extended. “You’ll do no such thing, Wretch. If you don’t have your men ready to march at sunup I’ll execute both of you.”

  “Who are these men, Commander?” Bek asked, looking from the mercenaries to Nehi.

  “Two mercenaries.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Karakhamen and Ashemors, both captains,” I interjected.

  “You don’t know their names, Commander?” Bek asked Nehi.

  “Should I? Wretches are all the same to me,” Nehi replied disdainfully.

  Bek focused his attention on Ashemors. “Consider very carefully before you threaten me!” he thundered, his eyes narrowing.

  “Or what?” Karakhamen asked pleasantly. “Your two dozen soldiers from the North will attack my hundred and a half men, My Lord?”

  Not only did my friends have leverage, they were exercising it.

  Bek scowled at Nehi, angry, impotent.

  Nehi shrugged.

  “We’re not threatening, My Lord,” Ashemors said. “Simply stating a fact.”

  Bek looked from one priest to another. All appeared panicked. All understood their carefully plotted rebellion was disintegrating before their very eyes. I almost laughed out loud. A decade’s worth of discord, finally coming home to roost at exactly the most opportune time. From my perspective, at least.

  Bek stared at my friends, seemingly incapable of speech.

  “Surely we can reach a compromise,” Sabestet said silkily, interjecting himself into the discussion. “Why are you refusing to fight under Commander Nehi?”

  Ashemors laughed. “He’s incompetent, as you well know, Priest. Plus, he treats my men like dirt.”

  “We have grievances,” Karakhamen added.

  “Many grievances,” Ashemors echoed.

  “Keep your mouths shut!” Nehi ordered, brandishing his whip again.

  Ashemors ignored him, addressed Bek. “Nehi takes a portion of our pay, My Lord. He beats my men without cause. He denies them access to the women in the village while allowing his soldiers to visit them freely. Especially him.”

  “I ordered you to keep the women and men separated, Nehi!” Debhen roared.

  Nehi shrugged again. “One can only do so much.”

  Bek didn’t even bother asking Nehi if the charges were true. All he cared about now was keeping his army intact. “I’ll make sure your men are made whole once Pentawere sits the throne,” he told Ashemors. “I’ll give every man a bonus. But only if you stay and fight.”

  “We won’t follow Nehi,” Ashemors said firmly.

  “Who, then?” Bek asked. “Sabestet? Debhen? Me?”

  “Will you follow Kairy, Ashemors and Karakhamen?” Pentawere asked.

  Bek appeared shocked that Pentawere would make a suggestion. He no doubt assumed a ten year–old puppet would remain silent and let his elders work things out.

  The two captains were both close to Pentawere. The four of us had ridden into the desert together many times in years past.

  “We will, Majesty,” Karakhamen replied.

  A glimmer of hope. Was I about to gain the army I needed to keep Pharaoh on his throne?

  “Ridiculous!” Nehi exclaimed, throwing his arms wide.

  Bek studied me, then Nehi, then leaned back in his chair, uncertain. “Sabestet, Debhen, Neby – do we dare put so much responsibility on a chariot driver?”

  That again.

  “Do we have any choice?” Debhen asked.

  Neby addressed Bek. “My Lord, Kairy went on expeditions with the fourth Ramesses for a decade. He’s a natural leader and valorous in a fight, according to everyone I’ve talked to – including our comrade, Nehi’s father, Antef. Antef said Kairy could analyze the ebbs and flows of a battle without panicking and deliver Pharaoh wherever he needed to be. The fourth Ramesses trusted Kairy with his life. He trusted Kairy to teach the Falcon in the Nest about soldiering.” Neby paused. “I can assure you without a doubt that Kairy is truly one of us and is committed to our cause.”

  “I agree,” Sabestet said.

  “I don’t!” Nehi exclaimed.

  Neby smirked at Nehi.

  Bek pondered for a moment. “Karakhamen and Ashemors, if I put you under Kairy’s command, and make sure you’re properly paid, will you fight for His Majesty as you’ve promised?”

  “Yes, My Lord,” the mercenary captains answered in unison.

  They’d been my first recruits, and both were my friends. Upon reflection, having control of the traitors’ army might be even better than having it disband. Karakhamen and Ashemors had just tipped the odds of saving both Pharaoh’s line and Pentawere’s life in my favor.

  Nehi was furious.

  “If I’m to command, My Lord Bek, I must respectfully tell you that Nehi’s plan to attack Pharaoh is impractical and severely flawed.” Though Bek had clearly been involved in creating the plan, according to what he’d said, best to lay the blame for its inadequacies solely at Nehi’s feet.

  “Outrageous!” Nehi spat.

  Bek raised his hand for silence. “Why, Kairy?”

  “As you noted, the coronation will take place inside Nekhen’s oval court. The court is surrounded by a wall of reeds plastered with mud, My Lord. Apparently, Nehi wasn’t aware of that. Your soldiers need to be inside that wall when you challe
nge Pharaoh, not waiting outside. Furthermore, the false pharaoh’s fleet will be drawn up on the riverbank, half a mile from the court – in our rear. His sailors will undoubtedly come to the false pharaoh’s defense. Plus, if we march along the riverbank for four miles some fisherman or sailor will see us. He’ll hurry to Nekhen and report that we’re coming.”

  “So what?” Nehi exclaimed defensively. “We have an army! The false pharaoh doesn’t.”

  “True. But how do you propose to keep Pharaoh from simply heading to his barque and sailing away before we reach Nekhen?”

  The priests sat in silence, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the sighing of the wind.

  “What would you have us do, Kairy?” Bek finally asked.

  “Approach Nekhen from the plateau in the west. I know a passable route down to the terrace at its foot. Hurry our forces down the central wadi once the locals are inside the oval court – it’s less than a mile from terrace to court. Send the Northern soldiers towards the river to keep the sailors at bay if they make a move to rescue the false pharaoh.” That was important – Nehi still controlled them and I needed to keep them out of my way. “Some of them should seal off the town gate and trap anyone who’s still inside. Move the mercenaries quickly into the oval court, half to the left and half to the right so they encircle the crowd. Assign the best of the mercenaries to escort His Majesty and you, My Lord, through the center of the crowd to the dais. Once you challenge the false pharaoh, order those mercenaries to arrest the royal family.”

  “What do you think?” Bek asked the priests.

  “It’s a better plan,” Sabestet said decisively.

  The others concurred.

  “Very well. Kairy, you’ll lead us to this secret path down to the terrace and take charge in the oval court. Nehi, you’ll command the men keeping the sailors off our backs,” Bek intoned.

  I remained outwardly calm. Inside I was exulting. “One thing further, My Lord.”

  Bek raised an eyebrow.

  “I suggest you allow me to administer a loyalty oath to each and every mercenary in the morning, that they’ll faithfully support and serve our rightful pharaoh.”

  “See to it,” Bek said. “We move towards Nekhen at first light.”

  I had what I wanted now. Command of the mercenaries. An army of my own to wield in defense of Pharaoh. If the mercenaries obeyed me in the oval court when I called on them Pharaoh and his line would be safe. The valley’s fate was now entirely in their hands.

  ***

  Shemu (Harvest)

  Neset

  ***

  “Hurry, Mama!” Aya poked her head into my room. “We can’t be late for Pharaoh’s coronation. Auntie Beketaten and Auntie Iput and my cousins will leave for the oval court without us!”

  Ramesses, fifth of his name, son of the fourth, had died two months ago after a mere five years on the throne. Shockingly, he’d lasted a year less than his father. His uncle, Amenherkoshef, Iset’s son and the fourth Ramesses’ full brother, was going to succeed him, denoting himself the sixth. Amenherkoshef had chosen Nekhen as his first stop on the traditional royal progression specifically because it was sacred to Horus, protector of pharaohs. He’d subsequently be crowned at a host of major towns and temples throughout the valley prior to his nephew’s burial in the Great Place and his official coronation at Ipet–Isut. The Nekhen ceremony was going to take place in a few hours.

  “We’ll leave without you!” Aya threatened. She was the most impatient ten year–old I knew. She stalked into the room and jerked my wig into place. “There. It’s done. Let’s go.”

  I checked my image in my see–face and made sure every bit of my red hair was tucked under my wig. The oval court was going to be packed today with officials from Djeme and members of the royal family who’d once known me. I couldn’t afford to be recognized. I believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was the day a traitorous priest would bring the pretender into the oval court to challenge Pharaoh. I’d dreaded this day for a decade, but I was glad it was finally here. Ten years of hiding had taken their toll on me and everyone around me. I wanted to get whatever was going to happen over with. Based on my dream, I knew the priest was going to ask Kairy if the boy standing beside him was Pentawere’s and my son. If Kairy simply slew the boy as he’d promised the fourth Ramesses, the threat to the sixth would be over and everyone in the valley would believe I was dead and Aya and I would be safe. But if Kairy didn’t execute the boy – if he claimed he was my son – then I’d have to step forward and refute him. I was the falcon god’s tool to protect Pharaoh’s line. That was the purpose of my life. I couldn’t remain silent, even though speaking up would likely condemn both Aya and me to death.

  I hated the thought of Kairy murdering a young boy at Pharaoh’s feet. I whispered a prayer to the falcon god that he would.

  I stood up and embraced Aya. “The pretender’s going to challenge Pharaoh today.”

  “I know, Mama.”

  “When the challenge comes slip out of the oval court, Aya. Hurry back to the estate. Hide in the trees along the river. Flee if you see soldiers coming.”

  “What about you, Mama?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Aya. I may have to reveal myself to save Pharaoh. But you can’t be caught. Our line can’t end.”

  “If we put our faith in the falcon god, Mama, everything will turn out exactly as he intends.”

  Aya’s confidence was amazing. But why not? She was an exceptional girl. I’d felt the same way during the trial in Djeme. At the proper moment I’d known exactly what I had to do, and that it was in accordance with the god’s will. I had to trust I would today too. I wished for the thousandth time that I’d been given my entire dream.

  Aya and I passed through the house arm in arm and out the door that opened onto a veranda and the garden and river. A crowd was milling about restlessly – Iput and her five daughters and their husbands and a dozen of her grandchildren, Beketaten and her five daughters – the infant, named after me, at her breast. Only Ani was missing – he was in Nekhen with Pharaoh and Nebmose and Setau and the high priests who’d accompanied Pharaoh from Djeme, preparing for the upcoming ceremony.

  “About time!” Ahmes–Nefertari grabbed Aya’s hand.

  “I tried to hurry Mama. You know how slow she is sometimes.”

  All the girls were dressed in their finery and very excited. It wasn’t every day one got to see a pharaoh. At least not in Nekhen.

  We hurried down the path that divided my garden in two, lush with flowers and trees, graced by a small pond. A couple of my gardeners were pruning flowers and I waved to them. We continued past the end of the garden through the emmer field to the riverbank. There we turned onto the path to Nekhen, skirting the edge of our estate.

  “Walk faster, Mama,” Aya insisted. “Uncle Ani’s going to let me chant alongside Narmer’s palette at the head of the procession during the coronation ceremony. But not if we miss it.”

  Ani had been training Aya to be a chantress of Horus. Being associated with the palette was a high honor indeed. As I knew from experience. I just wished she wasn’t going to be in such an exposed position on this of all days.

  “Did you know the new pharaoh when you lived at Djeme, Mama?” Aya asked.

  “I used to talk to his father, the third Ramesses, every morning while I watered his favorite plants. He took me on a chariot ride once. I guided the new pharaoh’s brother, the fourth Ramesses, on a tour of his dead brothers’ tombs during a local festival. I even spent time with him and his wife in Djeme before the trial. Their son, the newly–justified pharaoh, was only a few years older than you the first time I met him. As far as the new pharaoh, we were acquainted; I didn’t really know him. I doubt he’d remember me.”

  A half–hour’s walk brought us to Nekhen. I hadn’t seen so many boats moored alongside the riverbank since the last royal progression. I recognized the largest – the royal barque I’d sailed on to Pi–Ramesses nearly a decad
e and a half earlier. The others likely belonged to important officials and high priests and such from the stretch of valley between Nekhen and the cataract. All of them would pledge fealty to Pharaoh as part of today’s ceremony. We took a narrow path through a half–mile wide cultivated strip to town.

  Aya and Ahmes–Nefertari hurried through the gate in the mud–brick town wall to find Ani and take their places in Pharaoh’s procession. The rest of us passed by the town gate and trod the wadi path towards the oval court. Nekhen had been spruced up for Pharaoh’s visit – gaps in the outer wall repaired, streets cleaned, donkeys moved outside for the day. Narrow lanes were crowded with visitors leaving town and heading for the court, not just those who’d traveled to Nekhen with Pharaoh but from towns and hamlets and farms up and down both banks of the river for miles. The wadi path was packed. I greeted a multitude of acquaintances I’d made serving as a healer. They all knew my real name but no one had ever made the connection between me and the third Ramesses’ murder. Not surprising – for the residents of Nekhen his assassination had been a distant event, a story told beside evening fires, not an actual occurrence. No one’s life in Nekhen had changed when the fourth Ramesses took over from the third, or the fifth from the fourth, as no one’s would when the sixth took the throne. Those few who were aware of what went on beyond Nekhen, like Ani and me, knew neither the fourth nor fifth had lived up to the third; as Pentawere had told me time after time the valley was steadily becoming a mere echo of what it had been during the time of the third Thutmose and Ramesses the Great. According to Ani, ever since the third Ramesses’ death the priests’ power had continued to grow and Pharaoh’s to decline.

  Beketaten stumbled, elbowed by someone in the crowd. “Luckily, we have seats under a sunscreen near Pharaoh’s thrones along with his officials, thanks to Ani’s position,” she told me.

  We reached the oval court. It had only been used for special events like today’s since King Narmer replaced it with a shrine to Horus on the site of the current one within the town walls nearly two millennia ago. We passed by a thick precariously–leaning pole into the rundown oval. Priests under Ani’s direction had swept it clean of sand yesterday. A three–step stone dais, very ancient, shaded by a brand–new baldachin and topped by two thrones, was at one end, decorated with flowers from Ani’s estate; Aya and I had arranged them late yesterday afternoon, as well as others throughout the court. A sunscreen for officials, the seats beneath it already half–filled, was to the right of the dais. A second for the royal family was to its left. The court was already jam–packed with commoners and more were trying to elbow their way in.