The Gardener and the Assassin

by Mark Gajewski

  We crossed the courtyard and reverently entered Ptah’s temple. I was enthralled. Every flat whitewashed surface was decorated with giant images of pharaohs and gods, colored orange and blue and red and green. Columns and pillars were all brightly painted and etched with inscriptions. Statues stood everywhere, some massive and highly–polished, some small, of limestone, painted – clothing white, skin red–brown – inlaid with semiprecious stones and clad with gold. The sanctuary doors were beautifully grained cedar, imported from outside the valley. If I hadn’t regularly decorated with flowers the temples comprising Ipet–Isut I’d have been far more impressed than I was. There, this temple, remarkable as it was, would have been just one of many.

  It took Grandfather and me until after sundown to make sure everything was in order.

  Then we hurried back to the per’aa’s garden. We’d been summoned by Pharaoh to attend a special evening ceremony. We arrived just in time. The garden was well–lit by torches, crowded with high–ranking officials and members of Pharaoh’s family and priests and chantresses. Grandfather and I positioned ourselves at the rear of the crowd. Pharaoh was seated on a throne, his wives Iset and Tiye and Tyti to his right, his sons Ramesses and Meryatum and Amenherkoshef and Setherkopshef to his left. Wives and children of Pharaoh’s sons were in a row behind. Then I glimpsed Pentawere. My foolish heart suddenly leapt. I could practically hear it pounding. Convincing myself to give Pentawere up when I was at Djeme and he was at Pi–Ramesses and I didn’t have to encounter him on a daily basis was the hardest thing I’d ever done; seeing him a few paces away instantly wiped away the well–reasoned arguments I’d made to myself to forget him. I still cared for him now as much as I had the day of the Isis festival, maybe more. I admitted it. But I had to be strong and avoid him at all costs the next few days. Who knew what I might do if I saw him face to face? If we reunited, if I admitted I cared for him and he professed his continuing love I’d be subject to Tiye’s vindictiveness. On the other hand, if I discovered he’d fallen for someone else and moved on my heart might break. Maintaining my distance from him was my only option. I vowed to follow my head and not my heart here at Mennefer, to spare myself either outcome.

  “Six pharaohs have ruled the valley between the death of Osiris–pharaoh Ramesses the Great – life, prosperity, health, justified – and the beginning of your reign, Majesty,” Vizier To informed Pharaoh and the rest of us. “Only his son, Merenptah, ruled as long as a decade. It’s been more than sixty years since Ramesses’ last Heb–Sed was celebrated. Much has been forgotten about the ceremony in that time. I’ve studied inscriptions on temple walls and scoured the archives to learn of its component rituals. Tonight we carry out the first.”

  “Proceed,” Pharaoh directed.

  Vizier To motioned and a servant carried a two–foot high obsidian statue of Pharaoh, encircled protectively from behind by Horus’ wings, into the garden. The servant, a very large man, staggered under the weight of it, his muscles bulging.

  “Tonight we bury your statue to symbolize your death, Majesty,” the vizier explained. “In the morning, when you appear, rejuvenated, on your throne, it will serve as an analogy for the nightly regeneration of Re after his passage through the Underworld.”

  “Let it be done,” Pharaoh commanded.

  Several priests advanced. While one dug a hole beside a patch of papyrus edging the garden’s pool another lit a golden container filled with incense and passed smoke over the statue. Meryatum, the Greatest of Seers, Re’s high priest, rose from his chair next to his brother Ramesses and joined Ashakhet, the Greatest of Craftsmen, Ptah’s high priest, beside the statue. Together they chanted sacred words, accompanied by women shaking sistrums. Then a rather hefty priest reverently placed the statue in the hole. Another covered it with dirt. The priests wafted smoke over the burial place, chanted some more, and then the ritual was done.

  Grandfather and I escaped the garden without Pentawere catching sight of me.

  The following midmorning, as hundreds of officials and priests began filling the vast courtyard in front of Ptah’s temple, Grandfather and I completed our final inspection of the gods’ shrines lining its sides and then Ptah’s sanctuary in the temple’s depths. Afterwards, we hurried outside to our places in the courtyard, in the front row of the crowd to the right of the path Pharaoh would take to reach his thrones. The muted sounds of tens of thousands of people carried to us from beyond the temple’s high walls. The streets leading from the per’aa to the temple had been lined up to a dozen deep well before sunup when Grandfather and I made our way to the complex, residents of Mennefer and the surrounding countryside eagerly hoping to glimpse the royal party. The crowd’s noise was now marking Pharaoh’s progress through the city.

  The thrones, one for the upper valley, one for the lower, awaited Pharaoh on a raised dais in the western section of the courtyard facing the temple’s entrance pylon, shaded by a large linen–topped baldachin. To either side of the dais, in the sun, were chairs where the royal family and the most important dignitaries would sit. Serving girls bearing sunshades were standing behind those chairs. Two parallel lines of guards with lances and shields were keeping the restless spectators inside the courtyard split into two groups, creating a narrow lane from the entrance gate to the open area before the dais where many of the Heb–Sed rituals would take place. Grandfather and I were less than thirty feet from the dais.

  Pharaoh’s ebony thrones glittered, inlaid with semi–precious stones and lapis lazuli and faience and gold, placed amidst heaps of flowers I’d personally arranged. On one side of each throne, in a cartouche, was Pharaoh’s nomen, or birth name – Ramesses Hekaiunu – Re bore him, Ruler of Iunu – below a sun disk and duck which together meant Son of Re. On the other side, in another cartouche, was his prenomen, or throne name – Usermaatre–Meryamen – Powerful one of Maat and Re, Beloved of Amen – below the bee and sedge which signified Ramesses ruled the entire valley. The rear left back of the throne was inlaid with the papyrus plants of the lower valley. The right rear bore the lotus of the upper valley. Small stone slabs carved with nine bows, representing the valley’s enemies, lay directly before each throne. Pharaoh would rest his feet upon them today to signify he’d crushed the land’s foes.

  The shrines of the valley’s gods stretched in long rows alongside the inner courtyard walls, those of Ta–mehi to the left, those of the upper valley to the right. The shrines were elaborate, of ebony and cedar and copper and gold. The per–nu shrines of the upper valley were tall, their slightly inward–slanting sides rectangular, each with a barrel–vaulted roof above a khekher frieze that represented a stylized knot of bundled reeds. The per–wer shrines of the lower valley were rectangular as well, each with a cavetto cornice and a flared roof that sloped from front to back. Every god’s statue rested inside the cabin of a barque within its shrine, covered with a pall of fine linen and a multitude of flowers, for only Pharaoh and designated priests could gaze directly upon a god. A priest stood beside each shrine – doubtless the one responsible for the god in his home temple – each holding a golden bowl attached to three gold chains from which incense rose. Already a sweet–smelling haze was drifting through the courtyard.

  The shrines of the major gods were the largest and stood directly opposite the thrones – Amen, Re, Mut, Khonsu, Hathor, Osiris, Horus and Ptah himself. He’d been carried from his sanctuary this morning after being awakened by Ashakhet and clothed and fed, his gold leaf–covered barque borne from the darkness of the temple behind the dais into the light of day on the shoulders of eight priests. Grandfather and I had been privileged to witness the procession.

  Re was well up now. The highest sections of the temple’s painted limestone walls reflected him, dazzling white. The golden tips of flagpoles gleamed. The pennants at their tops waved in the breeze. Blaring trumpets and beating drums and the cries of people lining the processional route grew louder. Pharaoh was almost here.

  A fanfare of trumpets proclaime
d the arrival of the royal party outside the entrance gate. Groups of officials moved through the gate and up the lane through the crowd towards their places on either side of the dais. First came the basic grade priests, “pure ones.” Some were swinging censors of burning incense, others sprinkling the ground with water. I knew they were divided into four phyles, each of which served in a temple every fourth month. The other three months they filled administrative posts. Their wives were usually temple singers and sistrum players, also organized into phyles, supervised by the high priest’s wife. Next came lector priests, responsible for maintaining and reading from the ritual books, and then prophets, responsible for the administration and functioning of the temples. The largest temples in the land had four prophets, the smaller only one.

  Everyone on both sides of the lane bowed respectfully as the next group approached. I recognized them from Ramesses’ triumph at Pi–Ramesses – Pharaoh’s son Meryatum, Greatest of Seers, Re’s high priest from nearby Iunu; Usermarenakht, First God’s Servant of Amen from Ipet–Isut; Ashakhet, the Greatest of Craftsmen, Ptah’s high priest.

  “Ashakhet serves as Chief of the Servants of God everywhere in the valley,” Grandfather told me. “He oversees the distribution of offerings to every god’s temple. Occasionally he calls together the most important priests to meet with Pharaoh to receive instructions on cults and new construction. Sometimes he accompanies Pharaoh to festivals. Until the time of the fourth Thutmose the high priest at Ipet–Isut was chief; the high priest at the original capital holds the post now to counteract Waset’s growing power.” Grandfather lowered his voice. “Some say the Amen priests at Ipet–Isut are wealthier than Pharaoh.”

  “Pentawere told me the same thing,” I whispered back.

  “Pentawere?” Grandfather asked, bemused. “Not ‘His Majesty?’ The two of you talk about such things? Are the rumors I’ve heard about you and him true, Neset?”

  I colored. I’d never spoken to Grandfather about Pentawere and me. He’d seen me dine with Pentawere at Pi–Ramesses, of course. The entire court had. But I’d slept the night of the banquet in Grandfather’s room, not Pentawere’s. He had to know that part of the rumor was untrue. “I call him by his name at his request, Grandfather,” I said. “We were close once – but not in the way gossip would have it. Anyway, Pharaoh’s wife Tiye put a stop to it half a year ago.”

  “I see.” He shook his head. “If the Amen priests truly are wealthier than Pharaoh that’s frightening. Wealth is power, Neset.”

  The priests moved into place, the high priests flanking the thrones, the lower order priests to their sides and behind them.

  Temple chantresses entered the courtyard playing sistrums and crotal bells, singing joyfully, hair long and caressing their backs, the hems of their brilliantly–white diaphanous skirts embroidered with gold, their broad collars and bracelets gold. Some struck together clappers of hippo ivory carved like human arms – the ends shaped like hands, lotus flowers, heads of gazelles or ducks or people or the goddess Hathor. Others shook menat necklaces. A few played tambourines. Next through the gate were eight women carrying vessels of gold and electrum in outstretched hands. They were all wretches; I assumed them to be hostages of allies and enemies being raised in the royal harem, participating today to illustrate Pharaoh’s dominance over the entire world. Their beautiful youthful bodies were visible through sheer white dresses, their hair braided, lips full and sensuous, eyes elaborately colored with kohl, necks and fingers and wrists and ankles decorated with golden chains and jewels. They must have been important in their own lands, I thought, perhaps the daughters of kings, to be attired so richly.

  Then the royal family entered.

  Iset and Tyti and Tiye were stunning despite the advanced age of the first two, their dresses and jewels breathtaking; they put those of the wretches to shame. All three wore the vulture crown, solid gold, topped with white plumes. For an instant I imagined myself standing beside them, also crowned, a wife of Pharaoh, the thought planted by Tiye. Then I laughed out loud. Too ridiculous to consider.

  The three much younger wives of Pharaoh’s sons followed, keeping pace with their spouses. They were even more beautiful than Pharaoh’s wives though dressed less spectacularly – Nubkhesbed and Henutwati and Tawerettenru, the latter two pregnant. They were herding Pharaoh’s grandchildren and his youngest son before them.

  Pentawere walked with them. He was the most handsome and regal–looking man in the courtyard, clearly the favorite of the women in the crowd. Dozens were trying to get his attention in most undignified ways and he acknowledged many by name. A scar stood out whitely on his arm, earned rescuing Pharaoh’s wine from the Shasu. News of the fight had made its way to Djeme. I’d been both proud and scared. Proud he’d finally gotten to command men in battle, his heart’s desire. Scared he could have been killed. He drew even with me. I knew I should duck behind Grandfather so he wouldn’t see me. I hesitated. I just had to see Pentawere up close one last time. I couldn’t help myself. He was nearly past. He turned his head. Our eyes met. His widened in disbelief. I’d made a terrible mistake. He stopped. He stepped from the procession towards me, smiling broadly.

  “Neset! What are you doing in Mennefer?”

  I glanced at Tiye. She wasn’t looking. “We can’t talk now.”

  “After the ceremony, then. I’ll meet you right here,” he said happily.

  I shook my head no. “We can’t be seen together.”

  “Why not?” He looked perplexed.

  I thought quickly. “Ramesses the Great built a chapel not far outside this temple’s southern gate. Meet me there. Make sure you’re not followed. I’ll explain everything. Now, go.”

  He hesitated.

  “Go!”

  Puzzled, he hurried to catch up to his family. I glanced at Tiye; her back had been to us and she hadn’t witnessed our encounter. Good. But I assumed Tiye had set spies to watching me the moment I’d arrived at Mennefer to make sure I stayed away from her son. I was such an idiot, letting him see me. Now I had to meet with him. At least I’d be able to tell him what had happened the night we’d parted at Djeme and how that made it impossible for us to see each other ever again. Meeting him at Ramesses’ chapel was going to be risky. I’d have to take a roundabout route and ensure no one followed me there. Getting caught with Pentawere would mean my end. The men and women crowded around me were regarding me strangely. They wondered who I was that Pharaoh’s son had stopped and spoken to me.

  “Not quite as over as Pharaoh’s wife believes, eh?” Grandfather commented.

  “Believe me, Grandfather, it is.”

  The fourth Ramesses appeared, dressed as an army commander instead of co–ruler so as not to distract from his father. I did a quick calculation. He’d be in his seventies at a minimum when he celebrated his Heb–Sed, depending on when he succeeded Pharaoh. It was entirely likely he wouldn’t live that long. He was dressed as he had been during his triumph, in a linen shirt and pleated kilt and leather corselet, his gold belt inlaid with faience. His decorated breastplate was shaped like a vulture’s wings and his armbands and wristbands were of solid gold. He wore the Blue Crown. His sister–wife, Duatentopet, walked at his side, carrying a sistrum. She was dressed in an ankle–length sheath, with a golden broad collar and many bracelets. She wore a vulture crown, the same as Pharaoh’s wives, due to her husband’s status. Someday, after Pharaoh died and the fourth Ramesses ruled alone, those wives would be subservient to her.

  A fanfare announced Pharaoh’s arrival. A chamberlain strode forth from the entrance gate and cried in a loud voice: “Neb–tauy – Lord of the Valley! Neb–khau – Lord of Apparitions! Neterjer–nefer – Perfect God! Ruler of the Upper Valley and the Lower! Master of Sedge and Bee! Pharaoh – the Great House! Usermaatre–Meryamen – Powerful One of Maat and Re, Beloved of Amen! Ramesses, Third of His Name! Life! Prosperity! Health!”

  “Life, prosperity, health!” all cried as Pharaoh walked slowly between the halves of
the crowd, looking from right to left and back, a fan bearer and a servant holding a sunshade directly behind him. He was bare–headed and wore no jewelry. A jubilee cloak rested on his shoulders. Rolls of belly fat showed above his white shendyt. A false beard was attached to his chin and he carried a crook and flail in his hands. Every person fell to their knees and lowered their head as he passed. He reached the dais and took his seat upon the throne of the lower valley and those who’d been allocated chairs sat.

  “Last night a statue of Pharaoh was buried in his garden, to signify his death,” the Greatest of Craftsmen announced from the foot of the dais. “Today Pharaoh sits rejuvenated on his throne. He will now visit the valley’s gods and receive their blessings for his continued reign.”

  Pharaoh set aside his symbols of office and descended the dais. The three high priests moved to his side and the rest of the priests fell in line behind them. They processed to the first of the sacred shrines abutting the temple wall, Hathor’s. There was just enough space between the front of the shrine and the back of the crowd for them to pass. At the shrine, Pharaoh and the high priests chanted the proper phrases and the lesser priests swung bowls of incense back and forth and chantresses shook their sistrums and menat necklaces and struck their clappers. Then Hathor’s high priest reverently handed Pharaoh a palm branch, indicating that Hathor desired to prolong Pharaoh’s life. The priest proclaimed in a voice that all in the courtyard could hear: “I give you valor and victory, all the land, your years by the millions, and a hundred thousand lifetimes.”

  That ceremony complete, everyone moved a few steps to Bastet’s adjacent shrine, then Sobek’s, then the next, the ritual repeated at each. This phase of the Heb–Sed took hours as the group moved slowly and methodically around the courtyard, for the valley’s gods were almost beyond counting. Meanwhile, Re continued to traverse the sky and chase the shade away and sweat poured down my back. The most important officials were accompanied by servants bearing sunshades, but Grandfather and I were not so lucky. Still, what was a bit of discomfort compared to the chance to be present at a pharaoh’s Heb–Sed? Especially when Pentawere was within sight, seated with the royal family. Truth be told, I scarcely watched the progression around the shrines. My eyes were riveted on Pentawere. And his on me.