Numerous high officials were moving towards their sunscreen at the front, all carrying their staffs of authority. If I hadn’t gotten involved with Pentawere I’d be among them right now, carrying my gardener’s staff. But Aya wouldn’t have been born. Life was so full of trade–offs.
Kanefer spotted me and waved. It figured I’d have to deal with him today. Nearing fifty, he’d been appointed governor of the Nekhen nome half a year earlier. Ever since he’d been my most persistent suitor. But not the only one – sometimes it seemed half the older men in Nekhen who’d lost their wives were courting me simultaneously. I’d politely turned them all down.
Kanefer intercepted us on our way to our seats.
“My Lady.” He bowed.
“My Lord Governor.” I forced a smile.
“Sit with me during the coronation,” he practically ordered. “You’ll have a tremendous view from the front row.”
“I’d prefer to sit with my family, My Lord.” Being exposed to officials who’d once known me was not part of my plan for today. I wanted to remain out of sight as much as possible, yet near enough Aya to protect her if things went wrong.
Kanefer eyed Beketaten and Iput and the rest haughtily. “I’m sure they won’t mind.” He grasped my arm and propelled me to a seat between his and Hori’s under the officials’ sunscreen. Hori was the Viceroy of Kush. I’d glimpsed him from afar in Djeme but hadn’t ever met him. Lucky. He wouldn’t recognize me.
I settled in and rolled my eyes at Beketaten where she was taking her place amidst her family in a separate section of the sunscreen. She shook her head. She had the same low opinion of Kanefer as I. And the same awareness of my potential danger in such an exposed position.
Kanefer plopped down next to me and loudly called to a serving girl for wine. He scanned the oval. “Such a desolate place for such an important ceremony. I don’t understand why Pharaoh insisted.”
“Probably because some of the most important events in the valley’s history have taken place right here,” I replied rather harshly. I was irritated. I didn’t want to sit with Kanefer. I wanted to sit with Beketaten and Iput. But I couldn’t afford to make a scene. So I resigned myself to having a miserable time. What bothered me most about Kanefer was that he considered the governorship of this nome to be a steppingstone to a higher position at Djeme. He’d put absolutely no effort into learning anything about Nekhen’s storied past.
“I find that hard to believe,” Kanefer said. “Nekhen’s such a backwater, Neset. It may be tradition for the governor to reside here in Nekhen – my residence is an extremely run–down structure, which you’d know if you’d ever dined with me like I keep asking – but I’ve half a mind to move across the river to Nekheb. A much finer town.”
“Have you visited the treasure room in the temple yet, Governor?”
“No.”
“Have you made any effort at all to learn about Nekhen’s past?”
“I suppose you know all about it, My Lady.”
Little did he guess. “I do, actually. When my ancestress Tiaa settled in Nekhen close to three thousand years ago this area served as Nekhen’s celebration grounds. It was an unadorned gathering place on a flat piece of ground between the upper and lower towns.”
“Upper town?”
“There used to be a settlement on the terrace at the base of the plateau. The ruins are still there, if you take the time to look.”
“Perhaps you’ll show me some day.” Kanefer tried to take hold of my hand.
I snatched it away. “People gathered right here to honor the gods and celebrate holidays. See all the bones poking from the ditch outlining the oval?”
Kanefer nodded.
“They’re from animals sacrificed to Horus, the falcon god, Nekhen’s patron. Some of the bones go back to the earliest days. Anyway, this is where the first true ruler of what today we call the Nekhen nome was confirmed, a man named Kairy. Ani’s ancestor.”
There’d been tension between Ani and Kanefer ever since the latter’s arrival. Ani was beloved by the people of Nekhen. Kanefer was mostly disliked. It felt good striking a blow on behalf of the man who’d protected me and Aya for the past decade.
“Wouldn’t be much to boast of, ruling this town,” Kanefer said disparagingly.
“At one time Nekhen was the largest settlement in the entire valley, and its most important,” I said. “Only Nubt and Tjeni rivaled it in size, and they were far less influential. The town today is much diminished.”
“How do you know all this, My Lady?” Kanefer asked.
“Stories have been passed down in my family.”
A serving girl arrived with our wine. Kanefer drank his down quickly. I took a sip of mine. It was unexceptional.
“You said important events have taken place here. Name one,” Kanefer challenged.
“Easy. Horus Narmer was crowned king in this very oval after he united the valley. This is where he took to wife Neith–hotep beforehand, forging an alliance between the valley’s major settlements that made unification possible. Here’s where he first received the fealty of the valley’s patriarchs and petty kings. The maces of authority they surrendered to him that day are still in the temple treasury.”
Just then priests entered the oval, walking a narrow path left open through the center of the crowd, swinging containers of burning incense. The crowd fell silent and so, blessedly, did Kanefer. The smoke rose to the heavens, fragrant. Behind the priests came chantresses, their skirts sheer, shaking sistrums, clanging crotal bells, slapping together ivory hand clappers. Eight priests carrying Horus’ barque shrine followed, the shrine draped with garlands, the god hidden inside. Nebmose and Setau strode directly behind the shrine, high priests of Horus and Nekhbet respectively, censing it with incense.
I couldn’t resist. “I’m surprised you’re not in the procession, Governor.”
He forced a smile. “I prefer a seat in the shade, next to the most engaging woman in Nekhen.”
Ani entered the oval, holding aloft with both hands Narmer’s dark stone palette. Aya and Ahmes–Nefertari flanked him, chanting. I remembered the day I’d done the same thing during the fourth Ramesses’ progression. I thought it fitting Aya had a place of such honor, given the palette’s connection to her ancestors.
“That palette’s from the treasury,” I told Kanefer. “It commemorates King Narmer’s victory over a rebel from the delta, the last step in unification. The palette was carried before Narmer during his lifetime in ceremonies such as this; thus its size, so that the images etched upon it can be easily seen by all.”
The sixth Ramesses entered the oval. He was in his mid–thirties now, rolls of fat around his waist. Everyone fell to their knees as he passed through the crowd. He was wearing only a shendyt, unadorned by symbols of power or authority. Those would be bestowed on him by priests during the ceremony. Trailing him were members of the royal family – his wife Nubkhesbed and son Itamun, the new Falcon in the Nest; his younger half–brother Setherkopshef; Henutwati and Tawerettenru, widows of the fifth Ramesses; Tyti, the third Ramesses’ only surviving widow, a very old woman, bent with age, being assisted by a grandson; a plethora of children and grandchildren and nieces and nephews. The youngest had been born in the decade since I’d fled my estate. I spied Vizier Neferronpet walking with them. A chill ran up my spine – I remembered him arguing for my immediate execution during the trial. If not for Iset… I spotted Duatentopet, Pharaoh’s half–sister, the widow of the fourth Ramesses. I’d never expected to see her again. I wanted to rush to her and embrace her. She’d shown me great kindness during my imprisonment in Djeme, given me hope for an afterlife when I had none. But I dared not reveal myself to her or any of the royals who might recognize me because I was supposed to be dead. I’d likely carry the fear of discovery and execution to my grave, assuming I survived this day. The royals filed into their seats under the sunscreen opposite mine. I wished more fervently that I was sitting anywhere but beside Kanefer. The front
row was too exposed to the view of the royals. All of them except Duatentopet believed I’d helped murder the third Ramesses. If they recognized me I was doomed. I scooted my chair as close as I could to Kanefer so that his body mostly shielded me from them. Misinterpreting why, he seemed quite pleased I’d moved so near. I sighed. A problem to be dealt with later when my life wasn’t at risk.
Next entered, with great fanfare, the land’s three most important high priests – the Greatest of Craftsmen from Ptah’s temple in Mennefer, the Greatest of Seers from Re’s temple at Iunu, and the First God’s Servant of Amen from Ipet–Isut. I didn’t know any of them; those who’d held office when I fled Waset had died. According to Ani, the First God’s Servant was named Ramesesnakht. He’d been appointed by the fourth Ramesses not long after Aya’s birth. He was Usermarenakht’s younger brother.
Pharaoh halted at the foot of the dais, facing the thrones. Then he slowly turned towards the crowd. The five high priests arranged themselves in a line, facing him. Aya and Ahmes–Nefertari moved between my sunscreen and the dais alongside Ani. He was still holding the palette aloft.
Ramesesnakht turned and addressed the crowd. “Today we crown Ramesses, sixth of his name, in the town sacred to Horus, protector of pharaohs from time immemorial. It’s fitting that Nekhen is the first stop on His Majesty’s progression through the valley because of its long connection to Horus. Today Pharaoh will receive the crowns of the upper and lower valley, and the crook and flail, ancient symbols of authority. Afterwards, officials from this region will pledge fealty to Pharaoh. While crown and symbols will be bestowed by we three high priests during the official coronation at Ipet–Isut, today they will be placed upon and handed to Pharaoh by Nebmose, Keeper of the Temple of Horus.”
Nebmose addressed Pharaoh. “Majesty, please be seated on the throne of the upper valley.”
“You crown a false pharaoh!” The cry rang through the oval court, issued from near its entrance.
Pharaoh paused on the bottom step of the dais, turned.
Heads swiveled towards the monumental entrance.
What I’d been expecting for years. The imposter’s challenge. My dream was coming true.
A priest, early fifties, pushed his way along the narrow pathway through the middle of the crowd, accompanied by perhaps two dozen dark–skinned soldiers carrying hide shields and long lances, their faces menacing. A boy walked beside the priest, dressed as befit a pharaoh in a blindingly–white shendyt, adorned with spectacular and costly jewels. The pretender. The spitting image of the boy in my dream. He gazed haughtily at the spectators as he passed them. A dozen priests accompanied the priest and boy, flanked by the soldiers. One priest looked vaguely familiar. Debhen. He’d given Pentawere and me a tour of the second Ramesses’ hall in Pi–Ramesses.
Kanefer leaned close, his lips against my ear. “What’s going on, Neset?”
At that moment I spotted Kairy. He was clearly leading the soldiers across the court. He’d been in my dream and now he was at Nekhen. He caught sight of me. Our eyes met. He stared for a moment, then looked away. No smile? No acknowledgement? Had he forgotten me? Or had he turned traitor and feared I’d see treason in his eyes? That had to be it. In a few moments the priest striding beside the pretender was going to proclaim him the valley’s rightful ruler and demand that Kairy support his claim. Pharaoh expected, based on the scroll he’d sent Ani, that Kairy would immediately slit the pretender’s throat, ending the charade. But Kairy was in command of soldiers who were protecting priest and pretender. Kairy wasn’t going to slay the boy. He was going to lie and tell everyone that the pretender was my son. I was sure of it. What was I supposed to do then? Stand up and call him a liar, knowing that because Kairy commanded soldiers nothing I said would save Pharaoh’s life? Would Kairy kill me even if I remained silent? Would he have any choice? If he was truly a traitor he’d have to execute me as soon as the pretender was crowned. He couldn’t afford to let me live, because I’d know the truth about the pretender and he couldn’t risk me telling someone who might later rise in opposition against him. Nor could he risk his brother or sister or Beketaten speaking up. Was Kairy going to kill us all? I glanced at Aya. She was still standing next to Ani. I nearly panicked. Why hadn’t she fled the court, as I’d ordered? Kairy would kill her too. I felt the world closing in on me. Because Aya had disobeyed me, odds were the line of talisman bearers was going to end in the oval court a very few minutes from now.
Dozens more soldiers poured into the court, taking positions around its perimeter. Pharaoh and the high priests and officials watched impotently as the heavily armed men entirely encircled the crowd. Pharaoh hadn’t brought soldiers to Nekhen and Kanefer hadn’t provided any. Pharaoh was helpless and undefended. The conspirators had outmaneuvered him. There was absolutely nothing to prevent the priest from putting his pretender on the throne. I wondered if the soldiers were going to kill the sixth Ramesses or simply take him prisoner. Killing would be cleaner – the army and bureaucracy couldn’t restore a dead man to the throne.
The intruders took command of the open space in front of the dais, the priest and boy flanked by soldiers, unassailable. I was no more than a dozen feet from Kairy. His eyes were locked on Pharaoh, inscrutable.
Ani, standing between the dais and my sunscreen, beckoned Aya and Ahmes–Nefertari to him. He moved in front of them protectively. He set down the palette. He slipped one hand behind his back. I was sure he had a knife. Though a knife would be useless against this host of armed men. I clutched my talisman and whispered a prayer to the falcon god that Aya would be spared if things turned violent. The god was my only hope now. I wished I’d brought a knife of my own.
Ramesesnakht peered at the intruder. “Bek? What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you attending to the temple at Pi–Ramesses? And you, Sabestet. And Debhen. And Neby. Why have you brought armed soldiers into this sacred space?”
“This valley cannot tolerate another son of Iset on the throne!” Bek bellowed loud enough for everyone in the oval court to hear. “Her blood was impure. Her mother was a wretch. The get of her loins – the fourth and fifth Ramesses – have led this valley to the brink of ruin! I will not tolerate a sixth! No man in this valley will!” He strode from among his soldiers, directly to Pharaoh, then turned and faced the crowd. The ultimate sign of disrespect, his back to the ruler. “Amenherkoshef is a son of Iset,” Bek sneered. “Our enemies will invade our valley if you put him on the throne.”
Everyone was frozen in place. No one in their wildest dreams had expected something like this to occur today. Except me and Ani and Beketaten and Iput and Aya.
“You in Nekhen may not fear our enemies, protected as you are in the south of the valley,” Bek continued stridently. “But we in Pi–Ramesses and Ta–mehi who will bear the brunt of an attack – we must take action!” He slammed his left fist into his right palm. He gestured. The boy moved beside him and turned around, studiously imperious, facing the crowd. Bek rested a hand on his shoulder. “Today we must crown the rightful pharaoh – Pentawere, second of his name, son of Pentawere and Neset, grandson of the third Ramesses and his pure–blooded wife Tiye.”
Instantaneous uproar in the crowd. Consternation among royals and high priests and officials.
What nerve, giving the pretender that name. Though a nice touch, if convincing people was the goal.
“Didn’t the first Pentawere murder the third Ramesses?” Kanefer asked me, leaning close again.
He did know that much, at least. “Yes.”
The high priests looked at Pharaoh, seeking guidance. He was angry. I assumed he’d been warned against an attempt like this by the fourth Ramesses. But he’d either not believed his brother or had expected a move against him during the actual coronation at Ipet–Isut, not here. Because he’d failed to take precautions almost every important official and priest from the southernmost section of the valley was currently surrounded by Bek’s men. There was no way this plot by the
priests could fail.
Pharaoh moved up a step and raised both hands and gradually the crowd came to order. “The great criminal Pentawere was hung in the forecourt of Djeme for murdering my father!” he cried with disdain. “He and his illicit spawn have no right to my throne!”
“Pentawere was convicted by the fourth Ramesses of a crime he did not commit!” Bek responded, his back still towards Pharaoh.
He was awakening old rumors. And ignoring the fact that Ramesses hadn’t convicted his half–brother. The Great Kenbet had. Thanks to me. I could tell Bek’s claim was influencing some of the spectators. He sounded plausible. None of them had been present during the trial. None of them knew what had actually happened.
“Even worse,” Bek continued, “the fourth Ramesses burned this boy’s mother – Neset – to cover up his crime. An innocent woman!”
I leaned even closer to Kanefer, trying to hide, trying to make myself as small and inconspicuous as possible. Everyone in Nekhen knew my name. If they made the connection…
Conversations in the crowd grew louder. People were nodding – they hadn’t witnessed the trial but they’d heard about its aftermath.
“Everyone in the valley knows Neset’s son did not die!” Bek cried in stentorian voice. “I personally foiled the fourth Ramesses’ plan to execute him!”
“Untrue!” Pharaoh shouted.
A foolish protest. That my supposed son had been kidnapped by Kairy and afterwards hunted by the fourth Ramesses’ soldiers for years was widely known.
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 84
