“Tell us about the battles, Father,” Setherkopshef insisted.
“I’d like to hear too, Majesty,” I said.
“Surely Meniufer has told you about our campaigns many times, Neset,” Pharaoh said.
“Yes. And I’ve read the accounts etched on the walls of Djeme too.”
Ramesses laughed. “And now you want to see if one or both of us has exaggerated.”
“You’ve never told me about your wars,” Heket pouted, plopping prettily onto Ramesses lap and putting an arm around his shoulders.
Iset rolled her eyes.
“Well past time.” Pharaoh circled Heket’s waist with an arm and rested his hand on her bare hip. “Long before Horus–Narmer unified the valley two thousand years ago the Tjehenuians wandered the desert west of Ta–mehi, herding animals. In spring and summer they moved into Ta–mehi and used our grass and water to fatten their beasts. For the most part we coexisted with them peacefully, bartering with them for the goods of their land and oases in the west. But everything changed when Ramesses the Great established his new capital city, Pi–Ramesses. The delta’s entire agricultural capacity was needed to support the city’s three hundred thousand residents – estates to grow barley and emmer, grazing lands for herds of cattle. Sharing the delta with the Tjehenuians was no longer feasible. In fact, Ramesses’ son and successor, Merenptah, had to send his army to force them back into the western desert.
“In the fifth year of my reign the Tjehenuians allied themselves with the Meshwesh and Seped. They invaded the delta, bent on seizing its western half. I personally led my army into battle. I met them on the fringe of the western desert. I crushed them. Those I didn’t slay I enslaved.” Pharaoh indicated several serving girls. “Including their fathers.”
“I have brought those whom my sword spared as numerous captives, pinioned like birds before my horses, also their wives and children in their thousands, and their cattle,” I recited.
“You’ve memorized the inscription on my temple wall, Neset,” Pharaoh said approvingly.
“I was a common foot soldier in that war,” Grandfather told the boy. “But I knew the wretches’ language. So I served as His Majesty’s interpreter when he dealt with the defeated leaders.”
“Don’t be fooled by Meniufer’s modesty, Setherkopshef,” Pharaoh said. “He was a magnificent archer in those days, the best in my army. Before the battle began one enemy commander taunted me from afar. I still remember the long graceful arc of the arrow Meniufer fired. Hit him right in the chest.”
“I did have some skill,” Grandfather admitted.
“That’s what brought Meniufer to my attention. Anyway, the Tjehenuian survivors I didn’t enslave melted away into the western desert. But after a few years they began drifting back into Ta–mehi to graze their herds again.”
Darkness was falling. Serving girls moved about the room, lighting bowls of oil to provide light.
“Then it was the Sea People’s turn,” I said.
“Who were they?” Setherkopshef asked.
“No one knows for sure,” Pharaoh replied. “Some event or series of events, perhaps droughts, perhaps pressure from other peoples, caused tribes who’d resided on the shores of the Wadjet Wer and its islands to begin wandering throughout the North and East sometime during Ramesses the Great’s long reign. They swept through the region in three separate waves. The first was soon after Ramesses took the throne – one tribe, the Sherden, had the audacity to attack Ta–mehi. Ramesses defeated them and took many captives. He later conscripted them into his army. They fought alongside him at Qadesh.”
“I’ve read the account of his victory carved on the temple wall,” the boy informed me proudly.
Propaganda, as I’d told Pharaoh before I knew who he was. But I wasn’t going to reiterate that now, not when the boy so clearly idolized the great pharaoh.
“Ramesses the Great built fortresses along the coast to deter further attacks,” Pharaoh said.
A serving girl held out a platter of honeyed cakes and he took one and bit into it.
“But early in his son Merenptah’s reign the Akawasha and Luca and Tursha and Shekelesh formed an alliance with the Tjehenuians and attempted another invasion of the delta. Merenptah killed six thousand wretches and enslaved nine thousand more.”
“And then it was your turn,” I said.
Ramesses smiled. “Various tribes – Peleset, Tjeker, Shekelesh, Weshesh, and Denyen – had banded together in search of a new home. Their appearance in the North and East coincided with droughts and crop failures that weakened entire kingdoms – Merenptah, for example, had to send grain to the Hittites, his allies, so they could survive a famine. The Sea Peoples easily conquered them some years later, leveling their capital, Hattusas. Then they overran Qode and Arzawa and Alashiya – they sacked its capital, Enkomi. For a time they settled in Setjet. They captured one of its main towns, Carchemish, and razed Alalakh and Ugarit. For many years they ruled the region as conquerors, despoiling lands and peoples. Finally, they moved towards us, bent on seizing our fertile delta that promised them unequaled prosperity.”
“In year eight of your reign,” Grandfather interjected.
Pharaoh nodded. “Spies informed me they were moving towards the delta following the Ways of Horus, the ancient path along the coast – not just men, but their wives and children and all their belongings, in carts. Their sea fleet was keeping pace with them, sailing within sight of land. The Sea Peoples were more like army ants than an army – relentless, unwavering. Each tribe had its own symbols – turbans, caps, helmets sporting horns, elaborate headdresses topped with horsehair or leather strips or reeds. Spies had told me what they’d done in Setjet, to its towns and people. They meant to settle Ta–mehi, push us out, take it for themselves. Our backs were to the wall. Their victory would have meant our annihilation, for half our cultivable land is in the delta.”
“His Majesty sent me with the squad of archers I commanded and whoever was near at hand to Djahy, in southern Retenu,” Grandfather said.
“I ordered Meniufer to stand firm there at any cost to buy me enough time to assemble my army and throw it across the enemy’s path. He did. His few men fought so fiercely that the enemy advance slowed to a crawl. For that I awarded Meniufer his first flies of valor.”
“How did you stop an army with hardly any soldiers?” Heket asked Grandfather.
“We harassed them constantly, night and day. I moved my men from hill to hill along the enemy’s flanks, hid them in groves of trees and wadis. We fired at anyone who stirred from the main body. We terrorized them. We shot their oxen, so they had to stop frequently and redistribute their belongings among other carts. We ambushed them at waterholes. I lost men, of course. I was never so happy as when I spotted His Majesty and his army approaching over the plain. I was out of ammunition and almost out of men. In fact, we’d been throwing rocks at the enemy for almost a day.”
“My army defeated theirs easily,” Ramesses said. “But I still had their navy to deal with. And, frankly, their sailors and boats were better than ours, so we had to use trickery to defeat them.”
“His Majesty hurried the army overland to the mouth of the easternmost branch of the river,” Grandfather said.
“My fleet was anchored there. When the Sea Peoples’ boats appeared at the river’s mouth my fleet pretended to retreat, sailing south. The Sea People’s boats followed them into the channel, tasting victory, for they outnumbered us. They drew in close to shore, pursuing us fast and carelessly.”
“Archers I’d hidden behind patches of papyrus and reeds along the riverbank rose from cover and rained arrows onto the decks of their boats,” Grandfather said. “At that very moment our captains turned their boats around and attacked. I was aboard the lead vessel with an entire squad of archers. We poured our arrows onto the enemy boats from close range. The wretches were suddenly receiving fire from two directions. They panicked. I ordered the captain of my boat to row close to the enemy commander’s. When w
e were close enough we threw grappling hooks over his railing and pulled his boat against ours.”
“Meniufer was the first man to jump onto the deck of an enemy boat,” Ramesses said admiringly. “Within minutes he and his men had killed or captured every wretch on that vessel. Meniufer personally seized its commander.”
“After he gave me this.” Grandfather pointed to a long white scar on his chest.
“Your bravery earned you flies of valor for a second time.” Ramesses lifted his cup in salute. “We were like lions that day, Meniufer, roaring upon the mountaintops.”
“I miss those days,” Grandfather said earnestly. “To be young and in the midst of battle again, ‘eh, Majesty?”
Pharaoh laughed.
“What happened to the Sea Peoples?” Heket prompted.
“We dispatched them and stripped their bodies. Those who reached my boundary? Now their seed is not. Their hearts and kas are lost for eternity.”
“But three years later the Tjehenuians rose again,” Grandfather said, shaking his head as if in disbelief at their foolishness.
“Allied with the Meshwesh and five other tribes. They launched a full scale invasion against the western delta, led by a man named Mesher. We crushed them in another battle. They left two thousand dead on the field.”
“Grandfather captured Mesher,” I said proudly.
“For which I awarded Meniufer flies of valor for a third time,” Ramesses said. “I executed their leaders – I cut out their hearts and burned their bodies. In fact, Mesher’s father, Kaper, came to my camp to beg for his son’s life. I executed him too. I sent all the booty I captured, including cattle, here to Waset, to the treasury of Amen, to give thanks for my victory.”
“In that battle I was wounded in the leg,” Grandfather told Setherkopshef, pointing to the scar the boy had asked about. “Since I could do no more than hobble about after that, His Majesty was gracious enough to make me an assistant gardener at the Ramesseum, and then his chief gardener.”
“Maybe someday I’ll win flies of valor leading your army, Father, when I’m old enough,” Setherkopshef said, his eyes shining.
“Hope rather that your borders remain secure and you can spend your reign planting gardens to beautify the valley, and building temples to honor the gods,” Pharaoh said. “Perhaps Neset will be your chief gardener.” He winked at me. “And protect you from insects.”
“That sounds dull, Father,” Setherkopshef grumbled.
Pharaoh laughed. “Exactly what I would have said at your age.”
“The same thing Pentawere says now,” Tiye muttered.
Pharaoh ignored her comment.
“What’s this tattoo on your thigh next to your scar?” Setherkopshef asked Grandfather, studying it closely.
“An image of the ancient god of my family, the falcon, who everyone now knows as Horus,” Grandfather replied. “Being tattooed with the god’s image has been a tradition in my family for more than four thousand years.” He tilted his head towards me. “Neset was born with his image on her thigh. Only the second person in my family so honored by the god.”
“Show me,” Pharaoh commanded.
I blushed deeply, slowly pulled my skirt up. The falcon was high on my left thigh. It was one of the reasons Mother had been convinced I was special.
Pharaoh leaned forward and stared. “Amazing. Horus, protector of pharaohs. And apparently gardeners.”
Setherkopshef returned the flies to Grandfather and dashed back to the window. I yanked my skirt down.
Serving girls began circulating through the room, distributing cups of wine. I sipped mine. It was the best I’d ever tasted.
“You said you wanted to talk about gardens, Majesty?” Grandfather asked.
“Yes. There are some flowers in the garden of the per’aa at Pi–Ramesses that I’m particularly fond of. Is it possible for them to survive a journey to Waset if I dig them up?”
“Of course, Majesty,” I replied. “Just as long as they’re dug up properly, and cared for appropriately on the journey here.”
“Excellent! My eldest son, Ramesses, Duatentopet’s husband, is due to return to Pi–Ramesses from his campaign in Retenu and Setjet in a month. I’m leaving Waset ahead of my officials to make sure my son Pentawere has everything in order for the triumph he’s in charge of to welcome Ramesses and his army home. Vizier To will head north a week after me. I want both of you to travel with him and personally see to my plants.”
“As you wish, Majesty,” Grandfather replied.
I could scarcely contain my excitement. “I’m really going to visit Pi–Ramesses? The largest city in the world? On a royal barque?”
“You are indeed, Neset,” Pharaoh said, smiling.
I couldn’t believe my good fortune.
Grandfather placed both hands on his thighs. “I’m old and tired, Majesty. Time for me to seek my bed.” He stood, and I with him.
“You too,” Pharaoh told his son.
“I want to stay!”
“You have lessons with the scribe in the morning, Brother,” Duatentopet told Setherkopshef sternly. They were both children of Minefer, the most prolific of Ramesses’ wives. She’d died shortly after Setherkopshef’s birth. “Off to bed. Besides, the rest of us are leaving too.”
All the royal women stood.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Neset, in our regular spot,” Ramesses said.
“Yes, Majesty,” I acknowledged.
A couple of wives shot me blistering stares. Just what I needed – the enmity of jealous royal women. As soon as they departed the room I helped Grandfather through the door.
“Set up the Senet board, Heket,” I heard Ramesses say when we were halfway down the steps.
***
Grandfather and I boarded the royal barque tied to the quay in Djeme’s harbor. It was the largest and grandest vessel in the entire valley; Pharaoh had traveled to Pi–Ramesses on a smaller faster one. We weren’t the only officials headed to the former capital to welcome Pharaoh’s son Ramesses home from his campaign; the barque was crowded with high priests and important courtiers and their women, as well as a host of servants to see to their needs. The barque would become even more crowded as we sailed north; officials the length and breadth of the valley were embarking on the same journey and we were going to stop at several large towns to pick up the most prominent. Lesser local officials were streaming onto a dozen boats tied beside ours, all of them much smaller, none of them royal.
Unlike most of the officials, I tried to keep out of the way of the sailors making final preparations for departure instead of making them move for me. I stationed myself in the bow between the railing and the baldachin that occupied part of the foredeck, its sides decorated with images of Pharaoh smiting foes. Grandfather was nearby, stowing a leather pouch containing our meager possessions under a sunscreen where we’d sleep at night.
I’d gazed in awe at this barque from the tower room window and from the quay many times over the years. I could scarcely believe I was actually standing on its deck. Its cedar timbers glowed darkly, giving off a warm resinous perfume. The deep sheer of the vessel’s profile was beautiful, its high prow and steeply raked stern looming high over my head, carved to represent the rope bindings of the ancient papyrus reed vessels that had plied the river since the dim recesses of time. There was a large cabin amidships which Vizier To and the First God’s Servant were sharing. All five wooden panels on each side were highly decorated, its arched roof supported by thirty–six palmiform columns. A leather canopy extended a dozen yards over the deck in front of the cabin to provide a shaded seating area, littered with chairs and cushions. Gold and copper and silver glittered everywhere. Nearly every surface was decorated. I ran my hand lightly over the side of the boat – the wood was so highly polished I could see my reflection.
We were carrying the three gods who resided in Ipet–Isut south with us – Amen, his wife Mut, and their son Khonsu. Beginning with King Ahmose’s expulsion
of the Chiefs of Foreign Lands from the valley about four hundred years ago, the valley’s rulers had attributed their successes to Amen and so honored him at every opportunity. That’s why his home, Ipet–Isut, had evolved into the largest and richest temple complex in the valley. The gods were presently ensconced in three elaborately and richly decorated shrines just behind the vizier’s cabin, attended by a plethora of high priests and lesser priests and chantresses. The scent of incense and the sound of voices raised in song carried to where I sat.
The western hills glowed softly in the dusty air of early morning. The river was flowing fast and red, heavy with silt, covering the valley from desert’s edge to desert’s edge, for it was the height of inundation. Water was swirling and eddying around the trunks of palm trees that topped submerged riverbanks, the trees casting long shadows. I recalled Amennakht’s poem about Waset:
What do they say everyday in their hearts,
Those who are far from Waset?
They spend their day blinking at its name,
If only we had it, they say –
The bread there is tastier than cakes made with goose fat,
Its water is sweeter than honey,
One drinks of it till one gets drunk.
Oh! That is how one lives at Waset.
When all was ready the captain shouted an order and oarsmen poled the barque away from the quay. Several sailors yanked aboard cowhide bumpers that had cushioned the vessel’s side. Oarsmen took their seats and rowed us from the harbor into the canal that joined it to the river, though once we reached the flooded section I had no idea how the steersman knew to keep to his course and not run aground on an adjacent field. We entered the river directly opposite Ipet–Resyt, the Southern Sanctuary, then swung north into the crowded channel. Because the current was so strong there was no need for the oarsmen to row, so they shipped their oars and relaxed. With the prevailing northerly wind against us our sail remained furled.
Red pennants fluttered from flagpoles abutting the first pylon of Ipet–Resyt on the east bank, towering over the monumental statues of Ramesses the Great that flanked the temple’s entrance, nearly equal in height to two adjacent obelisks. Sunlight glinted on the golden tips of Ipet–Isut’s far more numerous obelisks and flagpoles three miles to the north. The narrow path that joined the temples was lined with hundreds of sphinxes and flanked by flower gardens and trees, lush greens and yellows and reds and blues in an otherwise stark drab landscape. Those gardens were among the most important that Grandfather was responsible for. Originally, Amen’s and Khonsu’s and Mut’s statues had been carried by priests between the two temples on that path during the annual Opet Festival, but now they went by boat.
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 13