by Max Overton
"But my dismissal came from the court."
She shakes her head. "There is no future for us here. Our only chance is at court."
I ponder her words and recognise the truth of them. "I will call the servants and tell them to pack our belongings."
"No, we leave everything and slip away before they know we are gone."
"We cannot leave everything," I say. "We are not rich. All we have is here."
"Then we will not miss the little we have. I have some jewellery, you have a little gold, I know."
Tiy-merenese is right. We must escape with whatever we can carry. She goes to don her jewellery and change Ramesses into something warm in case the nights are cold, while I prise out the loose brick in my study and take out my meagre hoard of gold and silver, tucking it into a pouch at my waist. Stout sandals, a new kilt and cloak, and I am ready. Then I face the problem of getting out of Waset unseen.
I may be master in my own house, but I cannot be certain of the loyalty of my servants. I call Meny who has been with me the longest and tell him to find a boat at the north docks to carry us across to the west bank. I tell him that my family will spend time on the riverbank, away from the bustle of the city, but that we will be back shortly before sunset as I have an appointment with the Hem-netjer of Amun. He hurries away and I see my other servant, the one who brought me the Hem-netjer's message, listening. I see him turn away and hope that he believes me.
We leave, walking slowly through the busy streets of Waset, toward the north docks. Ramesses skips along, excited at the thought of a boat trip, and Tiy-merenese watches him, keeping him close. A soldier accosts us, a bad sign, asking where we are going. I recognise him, for he is from my own Amun legion.
"Hapire," I say, "why do you ask? What business is it of yours?"
He shrugs. "Commander Merenkhons told me to make sure you get to the temple tonight."
"That is good," I tell him. "I will be glad of an escort through the streets. But that is at sunset. Today my son wants to play on the riverbank and look at the cattle, so we are going to the west bank."
"Perhaps you could go tomorrow," Hapire says. "It would not do to be late for the Hem-netjer."
"I would rather go today, but if Commander Merenkhons wishes it, I will stay. Does he? Do you have his command in writing?"
Hapire admits he does not and orders me to wait upon his return. He will only be a few minutes.
"Catch us up," I tell him. "We are going to the north docks. My son will at least enjoy looking at the boats."
He hurries off. I usher my wife and son into the crowd and as soon as we are out of sight, turn them toward the south docks.
"Meny will be waiting for us at the north docks with a boat," Tiy-merenese protests.
"And so will soldiers as soon as Hapire gets his orders. Our only hope is to find a boat elsewhere."
We reach the docks and leaving my wife and son in an alley, seek out fishermen, asking for one willing to take us away from the city. I offer silver, and one says he will. I hurry my wife and son to the boat and he casts off. As we pass out into the current, I can see the north docks and there is some commotion there. I can see the gleam of copper spearheads and urge my family to lie down in the boat. The fisherman looks at me strangely but offers no comment except, "Where to, sir?"
"North," I say. "There is gold in it for you..." I show him. "...if you can get us to Men-nefer within ten days."
He grins and spits into the water. "My little bird will fly us there, sir."
And he does. Eight days later we are in Men-nefer. I leave the fisherman with enough gold to buy a second boat and hurry to the palace with my wife and son. There, I request audience with the king and am admitted first to the Tjaty's presence, and from there to the Prince's. The king is unwell and will not see me. I throw myself on their mercy, and they seem surprised to see me.
"You could not remain as Commander of the Amun legion," Prince Seti says. "Too many people knew of your part in my brother's plot. You had to be dismissed."
"And the others, King's Son? What is their fate to be?"
Seti scowls. "My father the king will not move against Messuwy or Roma-Rui unless they take up arms. Your word is counted as insufficient evidence."
"So I have paid a high price for my loyalty to the king," I say. "What is to become of me?"
"There is a position for you in the Ptah legion if you want it. You would only be a Troop Commander, but I daresay you can work your way up again."
"My Lord Prince," Tiy-merenese breaks in. "We have left everything we own behind in Waset, and we have a son to raise." She pushes our son forward. "What is to become of him if we are destitute? Destitute because of my husband's loyalty to the king, I might add."
"What is your son's name?" Seti asks.
"Ramesses, King's Son."
"And you have a royal connection too, I hear?"
"Yes, King's Son. My father was Usermaatre, by his concubine Eliabas of Kush."
"Then I shall give you rooms within the palace, Troop Commander Setnakhte, for you, your wife and your son. Will that please you?"
This last question was directed at Tiy-merenese.
"I am your handmaiden, King's Son," she replies.
We leave and take up our duties in Men-nefer and the Ptah legion. I consider the king and the King's Son and know that I will be loyal to both, but never to Messuwy or his son Siptah.
Chapter Forty-Three
Year 9 of Baenre Merenptah
Messuwy almost fled into hiding when Setnakhte betrayed him. Word had come swiftly south on swallow's wings that the king had been informed of treasonable talk. The report could only have come from Tjaty Neferronpet, and the details must have come from the Amun legion commander Setnakhte. Roma-Rui's reaction had been extreme, swearing instant and dire retribution, but beyond that had expressed no great concern.
"Not even the king would dare replace me," the Hem-netjer declared. "This is Amun's City, and here I all but rule."
And in fact the response from Men-nefer had been puzzling for all the conspirators. Messuwy spent several uneasy days wondering if soldiers would appear at his home to arrest him. When they did not, he grew a little bolder, and journeyed down to Waset to meet with Roma-Rui behind closed doors in the temple complex.
"That traitor Setnakhte has been rightly relieved of his command," Roma-Rui said. "Merenkhons replaces him."
"That's good, isn't it?" Messuwy asked. "He's one of us."
"So was Setnakhte supposedly. He still knows too much about us. He'll have to go."
"I suppose so. How?"
"I'll see to it. In the meantime, you have to decide whether to go ahead with our plans or go to cover. I'm safe enough as Hem-netjer, but you may be vulnerable."
"I thought I would have been arrested by now," Messuwy admitted. He shook his head. "I can't think why not."
"Perhaps the king still favours you. He removed you as Viceroy but didn't arrest you then. Your man Sethi conspired with Kemet's enemies to put you on the throne, but there was just enough doubt in the king's mind as to your guilt. It may be that he sees this latest conspiracy as nothing more than the same, you whining over your lot. You are the king's eldest son, after all."
"Well, he has underestimated me then. I'm going to go ahead with our plan."
Roma-Rui nodded. "The sooner the better. Baenre is sick, and if he dies soon, Seti will crown himself king and you'll face an energetic and capable foe."
"I'm more than a match for that boy," Messuwy said. "But I agree. I must act to remove my father unexpectedly, at a time of my choosing. Then I can kill Seti because he will not expect it."
"How will you do it?"
"Poison. I cannot get a man close enough to the king with a weapon, but I can insinuate a poison. The man must at least think he can get away with it or he won't attempt it."
"What poison? Into his food or drink? Enough to kill him might be detected."
"Only a little will be needed. The king
is sick already and a small dose will carry him off. More than that I will not say. It is better you don't know."
Roma-Rui harrumphed. "Don't trust me, you mean."
Messuwy smiled coolly. "I don't trust anyone any longer. Not after Setnakhte. Don't take it personally."
"And Seti? Poison too?"
"I think an old-fashioned bronze blade will suffice for him. I'll draw him down to Waset at the time the king is being poisoned and kill him then."
"As soon as the king is dead, and Seti of course, Merenkhons and I will bring the city and legion out in support of you. Khaemter will support you from Kush. We get you crowned in Waset immediately and you'll have the power. The northern legions won't rise against the lawful anointed king."
"I want to kill Tausret too. That bitch killed my chances when the Ribu invaded."
"All power in Kemet will be yours, My Lord Messuwy. Whatever you decide..." Somebody knocked on the door and the Hem-netjer fell silent.
"Who...?"
"Enter," Roma-Rui said calmly.
The door creaked open and a temple servant came in, bowing in obeisance to the Hem-netjer and Lord Messuwy. "My lords," he said, "a message for Lord Messuwy." He held out a rolled papyrus.
Messuwy took it and dismissed the servant, only opening it when the door had closed behind him. He scanned the brief message and looked up, his expression bleak. "My wife has fallen ill. I must go to her."
* * *
It took Messuwy nearly three days to get home to Khent-Min and by the time he got there, Suterere his wife was dead. His household overseer met him at the gate and fell to his knees in the dust, keening his grief. Messuwy staggered and went pale, dragging the overseer to his feet.
"What has happened? My wife...?"
"Alas, my lord. She fell five days ago, only a little after you left here. A bone in her thigh broke, though the skin remained whole. We called the physician but there was nothing he could do. Her leg swelled and bruised, and she was in great pain. Then she fell asleep and died a day later."
Tears poured down Messuwy's cheeks and he drew a shuddering breath. "And my son? What of my Siptah?"
"Your son is well, my lord, though he cries for his mother. A woman of the household cares for him."
"Take me to her."
"My lord, she is in the Place of Beauty. We could not delay. The heat, my lord..."
Messuwy turned and ran back into the city and went straight to the Place of Beauty. He was covered in sweat and dust and thoroughly dishevelled, but the embalmers recognised him. The Chief Embalmer drew him aside, offering up condolences and assuring him that his wife was being cared for as befitted a woman of her station.
"I want to see her."
The embalmer hesitated. "My lord, she is in the natron. In another twenty days perhaps..."
"Now."
The embalmer took Messuwy to the storage area where a number of stone vats stood in a row, each heaped with glittering natron crystals. He examined the notations scrawled on the sides and gestured toward one. "She is in here, my lord."
Messuwy stood and stared at the vat for a time and then moved forward to stand over it. He began to push the crystals aside, digging down into the salt.
The embalmer grimaced and tentatively plucked at Messuwy's arm. "My lord; think. She is as yet unprepared and not as you knew her. Wait until we have used our skills to make her lifelike again."
Messuwy shook off the embalmer's hand and continued digging down. His fingers met resistance, something cool and dry, and moments later uncovered a waxy yellow surface, sprinkled with a dusting of salt crystals. Tears dripped down, staining the natron, but he kept brushing the grains away until his wife's face was revealed. Her features were angular, the cheeks and eyes sunken, and her skin, so unlike the warm suppleness he knew so well, was stretched tight and pale over the bones of her skull. Familiarity had fled along with life, and Messuwy stepped back, uttering a wail of anguish.
The embalmer swept the crystals over the dead woman's face and took Messuwy by the arm, drawing him away from the vat and out of the room.
"It is always a mistake to view the body before we have prepared it," he muttered. Louder, he said, "Never fear, my lord, we will attend on her well, and she will face eternity as beautiful as she was in life."
"The...the very best," Messuwy gasped. "Spare no expense."
Messuwy returned home, hardly knowing where he was going, and insisted on seeing his son. He would not listen to his household overseer imploring him to bathe beforehand and staggered into the child's nursery dirty and unkempt. Siptah took one look at this sudden apparition and burst into tears, howling for his mother. Nothing Messuwy said could console him and he had to let the nurse carry him away.
He called for wine and took a jar and cup into his inner chamber and consumed it, sitting in a chair and staring at the bed that would never again hold his wife. "I love you," he whispered, and drank again. "You deserved to live and become my queen. Now I have to bury you in a simple rock tomb, but I swear that one day you will lie in a royal tomb in the Great Field, and our son will be king after me. I will build a Memorial Temple for you and have priests utter prayers for a million years. I swear it, Suterere my love."
* * *
By chance or by fate, who can say except the gods?, in Men-nefer at about the same time, the other brother's wife also slipped and fell. Tausret did not break her bones or even hurt herself, but two days later cramps gripped her belly and the girl child growing within her came out and died.
The palace and city was plunged into mourning once more, but through the grief ran a hesitant thread of doubt. People talked, discussing the affairs of those placed above them, as if the words would somehow lessen their own burdens of worry. Rumours ran through the marketplaces, questions flew from person to person and from city to village and back again, asking, "Why do the gods afflict Prince Seti so?"
Some hinted that there might be something amiss with the succession. Baenre was plainly not the man his father had been, and Seti was less again. He was a younger son given power while still a youth and perhaps the gods were displeased. He had an older brother, didn't he? A living one; mature and experienced. Messuwy had been King's Son of Kush before falling unexpectedly from grace, and being passed over as heir. He had a living son too.
It was not unexpected that these rumours, this gossip, should make its way back to the palace at Men-nefer, and thence to the ears of Seti. He ground his teeth and glowered when the news was brought to him, but knew he could do little to quell the rumours. Only one thing would restore the faith of the people in the chosen succession.
"We need a living son," he told Tausret.
She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes, disbelief showing in her expression. "Our daughter lies in the Place of Beauty still, and you talk of starting another child?"
"I must have an heir. You have no doubt heard the rumours yourself, that my brother should be heir in my place. That is only because he has a living son and I do not."
"Such things are in the hands of the gods," Tausret replied. "I will give you a son in due course, but do not ask it of me now."
"When? Tomorrow? Next month? Next year? This cannot wait."
Tausret turned away from her husband. "Do you feel no grief for your dead daughter?" she whispered. "Our child, our second child, lies in the Place of Beauty and I am lost in my sorrow. I cannot talk of this with you."
"Of course I grieve, Tausret, but she came before her time, by an accident. No breath was in her body, no light in her eyes, nor movement in her limbs. She was not almost as soon as she was. I regret her passing into death, but I had not yet come to love her. Let me plant another child in you in whom we can both rejoice. Give me a son, Tausret."
Tausret shook her head. "It is too soon. My thoughts are filled with death and grieving. A child engendered thus would be doomed by such ill-omened thoughts."
"I must have a son, and soon."
"Not yet."
"Must
I seek one elsewhere?"
Tausret whirled and stared at her husband, eyes wide in shock. "You would do this thing?"
"If you leave me no choice."
"No choice? There is always a choice. You told me you loved me, only me."
"I do, but if you will not give me a son, I must find someone who will."
"You would love another woman?"
"Who spoke of love? I mean only to father a son on another woman if you will not do your duty. Love does not come into it."
"What quality of son will you engender if he is not sown with love?"
"Set's head," Seti yelled. "I do not want to do this, but you are forcing me to it."
"How can you say I force you? I would rather you did not."
"Then lie with me and let us start a son together."
"Not yet."
"Then I will find a willing girl right now and start my son."
Tausret averted her gaze and her expression became stony. "You are the Heir, my lord. You can do as you please."
Seti glared at Tausret for a moment, then turned and stamped off, muttering imprecations. Despite his threat he did not go looking for a girl, though there were many of a pleasing aspect in the palace who would have been happy to lie with him. Instead, he took himself off to the stables and ordered his chariot made ready. While he waited, he scuffed the hay on the floor, fingered the tack hanging on the walls, and looked at the horses in the stables and the grooms attending them. Gradually, he calmed. He was angry with Tausret, and angry with himself for saying things he did not mean, but as he calmed down he started to see the necessity of waiting.
A charioteer brought his horses, but Seti pushed him aside, leaping up into the chariot and taking the reins. He drove out into the city streets, heading for the West Gate and the desert that lay beyond. The wind and the sun, the exertion of controlling two high-spirited horses would wear him out, distract him from his worries. He was still a young man, there was plenty of time to father a son.
Chapter Forty-Four
Year 9 of Baenre Merenptah