Father was in his full regalia – Sekhmet on his head, crook and flail in his hands, false beard on his chin. My half–sister, Duatentopet, the fourth Ramesses’ wife, had the place of honor today, directly to Father’s right, beside the throne reserved for Ramesses. She was dressed in an ankle–length tight–fitting sheath with rosettes, a full pleated shawl, a broad collar, and bracelets. She held a sistrum in one hand and a lotus in the other. Father’s wives were to Duatentopet’s right – Iset, Tyti, my mother Tiye – all wearing golden vulture crowns. To Father’s left were my older brother Meryatum, the Greatest of Seers from Re’s temple at Iunu, and Usermarenakht, First God’s Servant of Amen. He’d made the trek from Waset on Vizier To’s boat because Father would today endow his god with most of whatever tribute Ramesses had hauled here from the North. In the row behind us were Iset’s son Amenherkoshef, half–brother to the cavalry commander of the same name, and his wife Nubkhesbed; my youngest half–brother, Setherkopshef; and my nephew Amenherkoshef, Ramesses’ son and so third in line for the throne. He was seated with his wives, Henutwati and Tawerettenru. They were, like him, sixteen years old. Father’s favorite concubine, Heket, sister of the archer commander Binemwese, was seated at Father’s left elbow. She’d come north with him on his barque. The wives were pointedly ignoring her. A line of fan bearers stood behind us, all beautiful young girls waving fans of white ostrich feathers. More serving girls stood close by with jars of wine and platters of honeyed cakes.
As I munched on a cake I deliberately studied the crowd. I was hoping to catch sight of Neset. I’d immensely enjoyed our excursion yesterday. She’d turned out to be a far more interesting and engaging and humble woman than I’d expected, not just extraordinarily captivating. I knew she was there somewhere, though the odds of picking her out of so many people were small. And then, amazingly, I did, about fifty yards away, stationed where the troops would wheel to their left in front of the reviewing stand. Her red hair was unmistakable. I’d first been drawn to Neset the very day I’d sentenced her husband to death. As she’d testified before the Great Kenbet I’d sensed something fierce and proud about her that made me want to get to know her. She’d faced utter humiliation that day and had somehow found the strength to rise above it with a quiet dignity. Beating her husband with her fists hadn’t been particularly dignified, but it had revealed her great spirit. She’d been compelling, exactly why I was hard–pressed to explain even to myself. Beginning that day I’d wanted to make a conquest of her. I’d searched the west bank for her afterwards, without success. Reluctantly, heading back to Pi–Ramesses, I’d given up hope of ever seeing her again. Still, inexplicably, she’d haunted my dreams for more than two years. No woman ever had before. Then, two days ago, I’d unexpectedly discovered her in Father’s garden, mucking about in the flowers, hands and skirt and knees filthy, hair tumbling over her shoulders. Inviting her to tour the city with me yesterday had been a risk. After building her up in my mind for so long she could hardly help being a disappointment. But that hadn’t been the case at all. She’d turned out to be the most intelligent and knowledgeable and confident woman I’d ever met. She was even more beguiling up close than she’d been from a distance. Now I wanted her even more than I had before. I wished she was sitting with me in the reviewing stand right now. But that was impossible, given the petty jealousies and quest for primacy within my family. As poorly as the women were treating Heket, they’d treat a commoner like Neset far worse. Heket had Father to shield her from their contempt; Neset would have only me, and aside from my mother no one in my extended family had much use for me.
I expected to see Neset at tonight’s banquet honoring my brother. I’d gone around her and had a long talk with her grandfather early this morning; he’d assured me she’d attend even if he had to drag her there. Honoring my brother for this charade of a campaign was galling; Neset would make the event tolerable for me. She seemed to be looking in my direction, not towards where the soldiers were lined up, though I couldn’t be sure at this distance. I hoped she was, though. I wanted her to be interested in me. I wanted her to desire me.
With a blare of copper and silver trumpets Ramesses’ column began to move. Sunlight glittered on lance tips and armor at the far end of the street, sparkled on the harbor and river beyond. Pennants fluttered from standards carried by soldiers and from the masts of boats. Yes, this triumph would come off perfectly. Thanks to me. Things like this were all I was good for in Father’s eyes. Watching over his harbor and military works and arranging parades. And to honor what? A routine march through the North to show the flag and intimidate already intimidated natives? Ramesses hadn’t even fought anyone, as his chariot driver Kairy had confessed yesterday. The crowd was immense, but everyone in it was being played by Father for a fool. Today’s parade was about projecting an image of might, much as Ramesses the Great had done by, as Neset had informed me, exaggerating his accomplishments on the walls of the valley’s temples. Well, if I’d been in command of the army, today we’d be celebrating an actual triumph.
Ramesses slowly followed a dozen heralds, still blowing trumpets, and drummers setting a cadence, riding in a chariot drawn by two prancing jet–black horses, its bronze components polished and reflecting the sun, his driver Kairy tall and stern and looking straight ahead, arm and chest muscles bulging as he held back the spirited beasts. I stifled a laugh – in my brother’s place I’d have chosen a driver who wouldn’t have made me look so puny by comparison. A wave of acclaim followed Ramesses. Behind him came dozens of porters lugging chests and boxes and containers, then four beautiful young women followed by the first of the army’s divisions, Ptah’s, the men marching eight abreast, lances resting on their right shoulders, hide shields attached to their left arms, led by their commanders and men carrying banners and standards and priests carrying a barque shrine containing Ptah himself.
Ramesses was dressed as an army commander in a linen shirt and pleated kilt and leather corselet, his gold belt inlaid with faience. His decorated breastplate was shaped like vultures’ wings. His armbands and wristbands were of solid gold. He wore the Blue Crown, or Kepresh, a leather helmet with an elaborate arrangement of blue faience disks on its surface. A sword was tucked in his belt.
Kairy pulled Ramesses’ chariot to a halt in front of the reviewing stand.
The trumpeters and drummers fell silent.
Father rose from his chair. “Welcome home, My Son.”
“I’ve traveled to the North, Father,” Ramesses replied. “I’ve displayed your might to the Nine Bows. Now they tremble at the mere mention of your name. The containers behind me” – he gestured – “contain gifts offered by rulers of towns and districts I visited, as tokens of their friendship and respect.”
Porters carried the containers to the side of the chariot and opened them for Father’s inspection one at a time. Ramesses described their contents in a loud voice – foodstuffs, gold, fine cloth, olives, wine, precious stones, copper ingots, feathers, skins. I glanced at Usermarenakht. His eyes were narrowed. He was calculating the addition to his temple’s wealth. In Father’s place I’d have given him nothing. In fact, I was determined to convince Ramesses, once he became sole pharaoh, to reclaim a substantial number of estates and towns and fields given the priests by past pharaohs and place them under direct royal control. That would weaken the priests and ensure the primacy of the royal house for centuries to come. And provide resources enough to take the army on campaign for real. After each inspection, the porter carried the container down the side street towards the heavily guarded treasury building.
After the last container was borne away Ramesses gestured and four young women stepped forward, lining up directly in front of Father. All were beautiful and long of leg and draped with jewelry and wearing sheer dresses. Long dark hair swirled in the breeze.
“Father, these are the daughters of the rulers of Khalep, Jebail, Ugarit and Megiddo,” Ramesses announced. “Their fathers offer them to you as tokens of
friendship.”
“Those rulers are most welcome!” Father cried.
Mother cursed under her breath.
Father absolutely loved beautiful women. As did I. Normally I’d be ogling the wretches as lustfully as he. But I was currently obsessed with Neset. They didn’t interest me at all.
Father addressed a servant. “Four more chairs. Quickly!” He turned back to Ramesses. “They’ll sit with me now, and at tonight’s banquet.”
The protesting high priests and Heket were shunted farther to Father’s left, onto the new chairs. The women made their way under the sunscreen and shyly settled into the vacated seats after Father had closely scrutinized each of them and muttered a few words of welcome. Words they likely didn’t understand.
Mother nudged me. “Look at Heket!” she said gleefully. “She just learned how fickle your father is. So much for being his favorite concubine. She’ll be lucky if he ever invites her back to the tower room, much less his bed. Today she’s seen the last of my husband.”
Heket did indeed look furious. I’d gotten to know her quite well the past two years; El–ram had smuggled her out of Father’s harem to grace most of my Southern parties. She was gorgeous and lively and affectionate; easy to see why Father had been enamored of her longer than any of his previous favorites. It was that longevity that had drawn the wives’ ire. Father’s new concubines were nowhere near as beautiful as Heket but they were exotic and thus, for now, extraordinarily desirable. Mother was right; Father would never give Heket another thought.
Ramesses stepped down from his chariot and took the throne between Father and Duatentopet, his due as co–ruler.
Mother leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Look at how Ramesses struts… You should be Pharaoh, not him. His grandmother was a wretch. His blood isn’t pure, like yours.” She snorted. “It’s a shame he wasn’t killed on his little junket.”
“Be careful what you’re saying!” I whispered back, looking around to see if anyone had overheard her. Though, in truth, I completely agreed. I should be Father’s heir, not Ramesses. It was a shame he hadn’t been killed.
No one reacted to Mother’s comment. The moment Ramesses settled, the drummers resumed their steady beat. Priests carrying Ptah’s shrine moved forward, followed by that division’s commanders, who bowed to Father as the division’s bearers dipped their standards. Each of the twenty subunits in the division had its own – poles topped with wooden hawks and lions and antelope and symbols of gods. Others were rectangular, containing the unit’s name and titles. The fanciest were made of dyed ostrich feathers set in a fan design. All were draped with red and white streamers. As the priests carried the shrine away the soldiers began to march, first towards us, then, wheeling crisply to their left, up the side street. Between their marching feet and the cheering crowd and the drums there was little chance anyone would overhear anything Mother said.
“This valley’s declining,” Mother insisted.
“I’ve been saying that for years.”
“Yet no one acts! No one’s willing to address the threat you and I see so clearly. The valley’s fortunes won’t change until you sit the throne, Pentawere.”
I totally agreed. “But Ramesses is already co–ruler,” I argued. “He’ll outlive Father. If he dies first his son Amenherkoshef is next in line. Don’t forget – my half–brother Amenherkoshef outranks me too.”
The chariot division followed Ptah’s, the matched horses prancing, their black or white coats shining from a vigorous morning brushing, each vehicle with a driver and archer aboard. A bow was slung over each archer’s shoulder and a copper blade tucked into his belt. Quivers stuffed with arrows were attached inside each chariot, as well as a hide shield the driver carried in battle to protect the archer. Sunlight gleamed on copper and polished leather. The division filled me with pride; I’d overseen construction of every vehicle and the training of every horse. Without me there wouldn’t be a chariot corps. But I’d never get any credit. Except from Neset. And, according to her, the gods.
“Ramesses is ruler by accident,” Mother scoffed. “Minefer pumped out boy after boy before she died, all but one older than him. All dead now except Setherkopshef, and he’s a mere child. If any of Minefer’s sons had been stronger Ramesses would be irrelevant and filling some minor position.”
“Like watching over military installations?”
“Minefer made sure Pharaoh married her daughter Duatentopet to Ramesses when she saw her sons dropping like flies. It was her way of remaining relevant after her weak sons cost her the roles of Great Wife and God’s Wife of Amen.”
“Roles that will fall to Tyti if Ramesses dies and my brother Amenherkoshef takes the throne,” I pointed out.
“Another weakling,” Mother countered. “Pentawere, there are two centers of power in this land – the priests and the army. You’re more popular with your father’s soldiers than either Ramesses or Amenherkoshef. Get the military behind you! Cultivate officers and soldiers! Convince them you’ll use the army to build an empire! Convince them you’ll make them rich with booty!”
“And women,” I said. “Don’t forget women.” I lowered my voice. “Would it interest you to know I’ve been cultivating officers for several years?”
She looked at me, astonished.
“I’ve recently won Peyes over.”
“The army’s deputy commander?”
“And Teynakhte in the Re Division, and Binemwese, who leads the archers in the Amen Division. And others.”
Re’s division made the turn in front of us.
“What are you planning to do with these supporters?” Mother asked.
“Simple. Gain control of the army from within so that when Father dies its commanders will back me as pharaoh. I’ll be able to block Ramesses from taking the throne. His being co–ruler will be irrelevant.”
“What if Ramesses resists? What if half the army backs him and half you?”
“We’ll fight. Once I win I’ll imprison him for the rest of his life.”
“You’d be better off executing him.”
“My own brother!”
The cavalry trotted forward, led by my half–brother Amenherkoshef. He was dashing, every inch the soldier. His horses and men were a stirring sight, their accoutrements and weapons polished and shining. But appearances were deceiving. The cavalry was wasted on my brother. He was even less aggressive than Ramesses. All he and his men did on campaign was scout and carry messages between the divisions. In fact, today’s parade was likely the highlight of his military career. He lived for show, not action. My diametrical opposite. With Father’s cavalry and chariots and infantry in my hands the Nine Bows would flee in terror instead of laugh at us as they did now. Amenherkoshef dismounted and took his place in the reviewing stand with the rest of my family. I didn’t miss the admiring glances from women in the crowd. My brother would not sleep alone tonight. He never did. Not even on campaign, if rumors could be believed.
“Your brother Ramesses aside, what if your father lives as long as Ramesses the Great?” Mother asked. “Are you prepared to watch the valley decline for several more decades? Beyond the point of recovery?”
“Not much I can do about that.”
“You could kill your father.” Mother said it matter–of–factly.
I was appalled. She couldn’t be serious. First Ramesses, now Father? Mother was unexpectedly bloodthirsty.
“What’s he ever done for you, Pentawere? How does he take advantage of your talents? By ordering you to arrange triumphs for your brother?”
I was still trying to wrap my mind around her call to commit murder.
“He’s allowed Iset to bully me since the day she became Great Wife after Minefer died,” Mother added. “The daughter of a wretch! A worn–out old hag! It’s intolerable! And his concubines! He hasn’t bedded me since before he took up with Heket. And now, four more…”
“Still… you’re out of your mind, Mother. Murder Father?”
; “He wouldn’t be the first ruler to die at his family’s hands.”
“How do you know?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“My steward has searched the archives for me,” she replied. “King Teti was assassinated by a guard at the behest of women in his harem. His son, King Pepi, barely escaped death at the hands of his wife. And don’t you remember the teachings of Amenemhat for his son, the third Senwosret?”
“I copied them many times for my tutor scribe,” I replied. “Along with the Story of Sinhue. A tale relating to the same episode. I remember the teaching well: ‘Maintain your vigilance against those who should be subordinate to you, but who turn out not to be so, men in whose loyalty one can place no trust; do not let yourself be alone with them. Put no trust in a brother, acknowledge no one as a friend, do not raise up for yourself intimate companions, for nothing is to be gained from them.’”
“Getting rid of Amenemhat was simple, according to what his spirit supposedly told his son in a dream,” Mother said. She recited: “It was after supper and night had fallen. I was lying on my bed and resting, for I was very weary. As I began to drift into sleep, the very weapons which should have been used to protect me were turned against me. Had I been able to seize my weapon I would have beaten the cowards back single–handed. But no one is strong at night. No one can fight alone, and no success can be achieved without a helper.” Mother gripped my hand. “Don’t forget – Amenemhat was vizier to the fourth Mentuhotep. He seized the throne from him and ruled for thirty years. Women in Amenemhat’s harem didn’t want his son Senwosret to succeed him. So, when Senwosret departed the valley on campaign, one of the king’s bodyguards, with the help of those women, stabbed King Amenemhat to death in his sleep.”
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 19