The Gardener and the Assassin

by Mark Gajewski

  “You did it again.”

  “What?”

  “Called me ‘My Love.’”

  “I can’t fight my heart any longer,” I said. “Not after I’ve lost Grandfather.”

  He kissed me tenderly. “I think my being here strengthens the argument that your dream is real, Neset,” Pentawere mused. “I wouldn’t be with you right now if we hadn’t fallen in love. We’d never have met if I hadn’t sentenced your husband to death. If he hadn’t been caught stealing from the justified pharaoh you’d still be Mesedptah’s wife tending your garden in Ta Set Maat. You’d have had this dream and felt compelled to report it to a pharaoh who didn’t know you. He’d never have let you near him, much less believed you.”

  “You think everything that’s happened these past years happened because the falcon god wanted it to?”

  “Do you have a better explanation?” Pentawere asked.

  I considered. “No.”

  “Then, whatever happens, Neset, it’s clear to me that your falcon god wants us to be together. What Ramesses is planning has opened a door wide that otherwise would have stayed closed. Yes – everything’s working out so we can be married.”

  “I simply can’t stay away from you, Pentawere. I know I should. Your mother’s warning terrifies me. But the instant I see you my resolve wavers. I cried two nights straight after I ran from you in Mennefer.” I clutched the talisman. “But I’m not going to run anymore.”

  “From now on I’ll expect you to fight as hard for us to get married as I will,” Pentawere said. “No more ‘you’re royal and I’m not.’ Otherwise, you’ll be ignoring the will of your god.”

  “I promise.” I kissed him. I caught sight of the scar on his arm, traced it with my finger. “When I heard about your fight with the Shasu, that you’d been wounded… I would’ve died if you’d been killed.”

  “I wasn’t in any real danger,” Pentawere assured me. “The Shasu were outmatched, thanks to me.” He shook his head. “When I returned to Pi–Ramesses after my brother’s burial I found the cavalry completely disorganized and demoralized. Since I assumed Father would give me command I took it upon myself to whip the men back into shape. Half a day after I learned of the Shasu attack my men were riding to the North. We tracked the Shasu, recovered Father’s wine, killed or captured all the wretches. Then I returned to Pi–Ramesses in triumph – only to have my brother give command of my cavalry to my nephew. Can you believe it? A boy who did nothing to earn his position. Did I get so much as a ‘thank you’ from Ramesses for readying the cavalry and recovering the wine and defeating the Shasu? Of course not. Only a lecture on misusing the cavalry.”

  “I’m so sorry, My Love.”

  “I’ll have the last word, though. Once Ramesses is arrested for trying to kill Father and I’m named co–ruler I’ll take command of the entire army. I care more about that than being Pharaoh, Neset. With the army under my control I’ll make this valley great again. And I’ll take command of the cavalry away from my nephew – punishment for what his father did.”

  “Better to make an ally of Amenherkoshef than an enemy, My Love. You can afford to be magnanimous when you take the throne. The son is not the father.”

  Pentawere kissed me. “Perhaps you’re right. If it makes you happy, my nephew won’t suffer at my hands.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You know what this means?” Pentawere said as an afterthought. “Once you’re my wife and Father’s dead you’ll be God’s Wife of Amen.”

  Me? A woman cast out of Ta Set Maat, widow of a tomb robber? That would be an incredible turn of events. Lost in thoughts of the future, I crossed the room and prepared Pentawere a meal much simpler than the ones he was used to.

  “My overseers are going to take care of setting up the banquet hall today,” I said when we finished eating. “I arranged for them to do it yesterday. I’m going to go to Qurnet Murai to check Grandfather’s tomb.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  The hill was a short walk from Djeme. We exited the fortress, turned north, passed the entrance to Ay and Horemheb’s temple of millions of years, then cut west between it and Amenhotep son of Hapu’s. We headed northwest. The hill rose abruptly from the plain, laced with narrow dusty paths, pockmarked with tombs, some centuries old. Ta Set Maat lay on the far side of the hill, obscured from my view, though smoke from its morning cookfires spiraled high overhead.

  I led Pentawere up the hill on a narrow path that switchbacked up its face. Grandfather’s tomb was near the crest.

  “This is it,” I said, halting beside a wooden door. We paused to catch our breath. A series of clay funerary cones were set over the entrance, inscribed with Grandfather’s name and titles.

  The view was spectacular from the heights. Stark desert lay before us, and beyond it brown stubble–covered fields, recently harvested. Sun glinted on bits of gold and copper in the memorial temples at the edge of the desert, and on the surface of the canals that crossed the plain. The river glinted as well, low and brown and sluggish. Its appearance would change dramatically within the week, running swiftly, heavy with red silt, rising. Across the river were two great temple complexes, Ipet–Resyt in the south and Ipet–Isut in the north, with the mud–brick structures of Waset in between. Sunlight reflected from the gold–clad tips of obelisks rearing high above temple walls. Dozens of boats were moored at quays all along the river and in the temple harbors, many more passing by on the river, those headed south with billowing sails, those north with oars churning the water white. The sun was well above the rim of the eastern plateau now, shining on the face of Meretseger in the west. The sky was hazy with dust blown off the desert.

  I broke the clay seal on the door and Pentawere pulled it open. We stepped inside. The tomb was musty and dusty. And magnificent. It reached almost forty feet into the hill, its ceiling arched. Every surface was plastered and colorfully painted. The sun, shining directly into the tomb, revealed the paintings in all their brilliance.

  “Spectacular!” Pentawere exclaimed.

  “Mesedptah painted these years ago,” I said.

  “Really?”

  “Part of my bride price. Mesedptah had to decorate my father’s tomb too. For all his many faults, my husband truly was a gifted craftsman.”

  Half the tomb was devoted to Grandfather’s life as a soldier and half to his life as a gardener. The left wall portrayed his three campaigns with Pharaoh in three separate registers, images of chariots and boats and horses and archers and dead and captured Tjehenuians and Sea Peoples. Each register ended with an image of Grandfather being awarded flies of valor by Pharaoh. The right wall and the ceiling portrayed Grandfather and his gardens, complete with flowers and trees and birds and butterflies and lotus–filled pools. Some showed his workers irrigating and harvesting, others him drawing the plans. The back wall was a scene of Grandfather standing before Osiris, his heart being weighed by Maat, with Horus – the falcon god – advocating for him with the other gods. In that scene Grandfather wore the talisman that now graced my neck.

  Grave goods were already arranged quite orderly in the tomb, all prepared years ago by Grandfather. His beautifully decorated coffin was in the center, and next to it an alabaster box containing four canopic jars, their tops decorated with the four sons of Horus who’d watch over his internal organs – human–headed Amset the stomach; the baboon Hapi the intestines; the dog Duamutef the lungs; and the falcon Qebesenuf the liver. The tomb was practically overflowing with shabtis, images of gardeners and soldiers mostly, ranging from four to nine inches high.

  “Meniufer won’t have to do anything in the next life, with so many shabtis,” Pentawere observed.

  “He even has thirty–six whip–carrying overseers, each overseeing thirty–six workers, to make sure they perform. Four hundred–one in all.”

  A Book of Going Forth by Day rested atop the coffin. We carefully unrolled the long scroll, beautifully decorated. It contained all the spells necessary for Gra
ndfather to have a successful Afterlife. It was a generic scroll, with Grandfather’s name written in the appropriate blanks.

  An entire wooden box in a corner, ebony, decorated, was filled with amulets and scarabs.

  “I’ll have to come back and get this when it’s time to wrap Grandfather’s body,” I said.

  “We should probably take the canopic box with us today,” Pentawere said practically. “The embalmers will need the jars right away.”

  “You don’t mind carrying it?”

  “Anything for you, Neset.”

  We went outside, closed the door, made some mud and resealed it. Then we sat on the flat ground in front of the tomb, cross–legged.

  “Have you talked to Pharaoh since you returned?” I asked.

  “I didn’t have a chance. I ran into you before I made it inside the per’aa.”

  “He’s sending you to Abdju after the Epagomenal Days to represent him at the Wag Festival. He wants you to dedicate the new wall he’s erected around Osiris’ temple.”

  “Father talks to you about me?”

  “I told you before – we talk most mornings while I water the plants on the tower stairs.”

  “My brother Ramesses said he’s seen you and Father together.”

  “You talked to your brother about me?”

  “At a party in Pi–Ramesses. I told him everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Including that I intend to marry you.”

  My heart nearly stopped. “Was that wise, Pentawere?”

  “Wise or not, it’s done.”

  I hoped it wouldn’t come back to haunt us. “Did I ever tell you about the first time I met Pharaoh on the stairs?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t know who he was, Pentawere. I’d never seen him up close. So I treated him like any other worker. He insists to this day that I continue to treat him like that when we’re alone. About Abdju – he saw how upset I was the morning after Grandfather died. He promised to set up a stela there in Grandfather’s memory. He wants me to go with you, to make offerings.”

  “Really? We get to spend an entire week together at Abdju?” Pentawere smiled. “Plus time traveling there?”

  “We do.”

  “Are you sure Father doesn’t know about us, Neset? Maybe he does. Maybe he approves and he’s throwing us together on purpose.”

  “He didn’t act like he knows, Pentawere. Your mother must not have said anything to him about us yet. But he did see us together at the banquet in Pi–Ramesses – we were only a few feet away.”

  “You mean the night Father was obsessed with his four new barbarian concubines?” Pentawere sniffed. “I can assure you, Neset, he didn’t notice us.” He took my hand. “But he’s going to know about us, and soon. I’m going to tell Father I love you. I’m going to ask his blessing on our marriage.”

  “Before we go to Abdju?”

  “Why not? If he agrees I’ll take you back to Pi–Ramesses with me. I’ll have to go there directly from Abdju.”

  “Isn’t that a little hasty?”

  “I don’t want to be separated from you ever again, Neset,” Pentawere said earnestly. “And I don’t intend to wait for the situation with Ramesses to be resolved. I just need to find the right time, lay some groundwork first.”

  “In the next three days?”

  “Father’s usually in a good mood during the holidays. It certainly helps our cause that he likes you enough to make you an overseer of his garden.”

  “Actually, he appointed me to Grandfather’s position yesterday.” Was it only yesterday? “I oversee everything on both banks now.”

  “That’s splendid, Neset! I’m thrilled for you.”

  “I worry more about your mother than your father. She doesn’t like me. She has big plans for you and they don’t include me.”

  “Mother will have to go along with whatever Father decides,” Pentawere said. “He’s the one I have to convince.”

  “Don’t underestimate your mother,” I warned. “Wives influence their husbands. Sometimes without them even knowing.” Except for naïve ones like me. “Your mother’s predisposed against me. She’s still holding over my head that I never told your father about my husband. She’ll ruin me if she tells him. And she will, if you press your father to let us marry.”

  “You’d prefer we carry on as we are now? Rarely seeing each other? Keeping each other at arm’s length when anyone’s around?”

  “Of course not, My Love. I want to be your wife. I just see so many obstacles.”

  “Maybe it’s not up to us,” Pentawere said. “Maybe we simply need to trust in your falcon god. One way or another, I’m going to be Pharaoh. Then Mother won’t be able to stop us.”

  ***

  Pentawere and I set sail for Abdju after the last Epagomenal Day. Pharaoh had been in a foul mood for some reason the days before we left; Pentawere hadn’t approached him about marrying me. I was relieved because I feared Pharaoh would have ordered Pentawere and me not to see each other again, a command I’d have to obey. And I was saddened, because once the ceremony was over at Abdju Pentawere would sail north and I’d sail south. No telling how long before we’d be together again.

  Pentawere’s barque was the same one I’d traveled on to Pi–Ramesses with Vizier To. The brand new barque shrine Pharaoh had constructed for the upcoming festival – he commissioned one for Osiris’ statue annually – was lashed to the deck amidships, its wood polished, glittering with gold and silver and copper fittings. Next to it lay two limestone stelae, bright white, one commemorating Grandfather, showing him seated at a table piled high with food, the other etched with Pentawere making an offering to Osiris, its narrative describing his participation in the upcoming festival and Pharaoh’s donation of the temple wall.

  Pentawere and I were circumspect around each other during the voyage. We were sure Tiye had placed spies among the crew to watch us and report what we did. According to Pentawere, she’d been furious with Pharaoh for sending us to Abdju together. By day we sat beneath a leather–topped sunscreen in front of the barque’s cabin, talking, eating, drinking, watching the valley slip by in the presence of a dozen high–ranking officials who were traveling with us to attend the celebration. At night Pentawere slept in the barque’s cabin and I slept beneath a sunscreen on deck along with several serving girls, one or all in Tiye’s employ I was certain. They tried desperately to befriend me, innocently asked me questions about my love life, tried to draw me into their gossip and confidences. I didn’t rise to the bait. Some nights, as they slept, I lay awake and stared at the stars, allowing myself to imagine what my life would be like as Pentawere’s Great Wife. I could care less about the trappings of royalty that would accompany that role. He was a wonderful man, so different from my dead husband – kind, attentive, caring. He bantered easily with members of the crew, treated even the serving girls with respect. He was a man who didn’t take advantage of his authority to belittle or intimidate others, as Mesedptah had done as a matter of course. I thought he’d someday make a wonderful pharaoh. And an even more wonderful husband. Why I’d taken so long to open my heart to him and fall in love I no longer remembered.

  “I can’t believe I’m actually going to participate in the Wag Festival at Abdju itself,” I told Pentawere when the barque’s captain informed us we were only an hour from landing. “When I lived in Ta Set Maat, every year at this time we celebrated the festival of the dead. Everyone gathered amidst the tombs on the hills above the village to honor their ancestors. We set model boats atop the tombs and aimed them in the direction of Osiris’ temple at Abdju to carry the spirits of our ancestors here so they could participate in the procession of everyone who’s ever lived in this valley. The next day we rigged the boats with sails, so the spirits could return from Abdju to Ta Set Maat. We lit lamps beside the tombs to guide the spirits home, then made offerings to them. Everyone in the valley tries to journey to Abdju at least once to take part in the real ceremony
. I never expected I would.”

  We arrived at Abdju a little after midday. The river and quay at the mouth of the canal that led west through the plain to town were crowded with craft of every size and description, carrying pilgrims from all over the valley to visit Osiris’ temple and march in the festival procession two days from now. Officials hurriedly made space for our barque to land. We transferred to a smaller vessel that would take us to town via a canal, for the cultivated plain was wide here and the town was on the edge of the distant desert. Porters loaded the new barque shrine and two stelae onto the smaller vessel.

  The recently–harvested fields beside the canal, dotted with dense groves of trees, stretched southwest for more than five miles. They gave way to tan–colored low desert. Beyond the low desert towered dark and rugged striated cliffs, rising abruptly, marching like steps into the distance, pierced by numerous arid valleys winding tortuously back through the plateau into high desert. Slopes of loose sand covered the bottom third of the cliffs. The noon sunlight played on them, stark and harsh.

  As we neared Abdju I noted small villages scattered at the edge of the desert, seemingly attached to a number of temples honoring justified kings. The villages had probably originally housed the men and women who’d erected the temples, and were now home to those who served the kings’ cults. A pyramid dominated the far distance, that of the first Ahmose if I recalled correctly. Close by town was the most impressive and ancient building on the plain, a massive unroofed rectangle of mud–brick, its thick walls more than thirty–five feet high. King Narmer and his immediate successors who’d ruled the newly united valley had erected similar edifices, but this one, built by King Khasekhemwy, was the only one that still stood. It was twin to one he’d erected at Nekhen, only larger.

  Officials were waiting on Abdju’s quay to greet us when we landed, all dressed finely, all carrying staffs indicating their authority. Among them were priests and scribes and overseers. I too carried a staff now, similar to Grandfather’s, polished ebony with two bands of gold, a gold flower between them indicating I was an overseer of gardens. Grandfather’s staff would accompany him to the next life.