“Binemwese. He’s stationed here in the South. Belongs to the Amen Division.”
“She’s been furious at Ramesses ever since he threw her over for his four wretches. She’s turned on him. It’ll be easy to talk her into joining our conspiracy. We’ll use the two of them to pass our messages back and forth. I assume we can come up with plenty of excuses for Binemwese to travel regularly to Pi–Ramesses.”
I nodded. “We’re agreed then, Mother. We’re going to kill Father.” I stood. “Goodnight. We’ll talk again before I head back to the North.”
I left the room, exited the harem, headed towards my room in the per’aa.
Where my bride was waiting.
I was going to be Pharaoh. I was going to kill Father and immediately afterwards take Neset to wife. She’d broken with me tonight because of Naqi’a. The only way I could win Neset back was to make it clear she was the only woman I’d ever take to my bed. Just because Naqi’a had been thrust on me didn’t mean I had to accept her. I was serious about giving her to my half–brother as soon as I took the throne. Having my child in her belly would massively complicate the future. Preventing that was easy. I’d simply not consummate my marriage to Naqi’a between now and Father’s death.
I entered my room. The flock of women attending Naqi’a scattered, fell to their knees. She sat on the edge of my bed, pale, trembling, Abi–rami’s arm around her shoulders. She’d been bathed and painted and anointed with perfume and dressed in a nearly sheer dress. Abi–rami stood and moved away from the bed. Naqi’a sat alone, terrified, grasping her hands to keep them from shaking. Tears were welling in her eyes.
I addressed Abi–rami. “Tell Naqi’a she’ll be my wife for real once she’s capable of carrying on a conversation in my language. Until then, these rooms are hers alone.”
Without waiting for a reply I left to seek different quarters.
***
Shemu (Harvest)
Neset
***
I stalked back and forth in my hut after Pentawere left for half an hour, bereft, blinded by hot tears. I’d just given up the only man I’d ever loved, again, but this time for good. Then I threw myself on my pallet, thrashed about, rose, paced again, sat on a chair with my head in my hands, sobbed. I felt the walls closing in on me. I couldn’t stay inside, not in the hut where my world had just ended. I left, stumbled down the long dark dusty lane, still crying, made my way to Pharaoh’s garden. I took the nearest path, made a beeline for my favorite stone bench beneath a dark stand of acacia trees. In the darkness I ran headlong into a man standing on the path. I nearly tumbled to the ground. He caught me and steadied me and set me back on my feet.
His face was unmistakable in the moonlight. Ramesses, Pharaoh’s co–ruler. Could this night get any worse? I could be executed for touching a royal, much less slamming into one. I fell to my knees, still crying, lowered my head. “I’m sorry, Majesty,” I sobbed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked gently.
I tried to answer but couldn’t.
Ramesses raised me to my feet, took me in his arms, held me close to calm me.
I let him for a moment. Then I realized I was in the arms of the man who was going to murder Pharaoh and be burned alive for it a few paces away from this very garden. The most devious and awful person in the entire land. A man who, thanks to my dream, Pentawere had already taken steps to stop. Hastily, I moved back, brushed the tears from my face, dropped my eyes to the ground, totally embarrassed he’d taken me in his arms, appalled at his true nature that had been revealed to me by my god.
“You’re Neset, Meniufer’s granddaughter,” he said. “Your oversee all the gardens in this section of the valley.”
I raised my wet eyes. “Yes, Majesty.”
“I first saw you in my father’s garden at Pi–Ramesses. You were with my brother Pentawere at the banquet celebrating my return from my campaign.”
“You have an excellent memory, Majesty,” I snuffled.
“For some things.”
“I’m surprised you noticed me.”
“I command the army. I’m required to notice many things. It keeps my men alive.”
I nodded. That made sense.
“I assume your tears are related to my brother’s unexpected marriage this evening?”
I guess I wasn’t really surprised Ramesses was aware of my relationship with his brother. We hadn’t hidden it, at least not at the beginning when he’d have seen Pentawere and me together. No sense in denying it. If I was less than forthcoming who knew how he might react? “Majesty, a little while ago Pentawere told me he was married.” More tears spilled down my cheeks. “So I gave him up.”
He seemed satisfied with my explanation. “I’m sorry. Will you be alright?”
“Yes, Majesty. Tomorrow, perhaps. Or never.”
His face said he had no interest in getting involved in my situation, which was fine with me. “I hope you find some peace, Neset. And now, I’m off to bed. I’m tired and must be up early. I plan to visit the tombs of my brothers in Ta Set Neferu at first light.”
I wiped tears from my cheeks with my fingers. “Everyone on the west bank will be visiting their ancestors’ tombs and making offerings tomorrow too. It’s our tradition as part of the Beautiful Feast.”
“Future pharaohs are no different. Once our obligations of state are out of the way, of course.”
“I know your brothers’ tombs,” I told Ramesses, a little proudly. “My father excavated them.”
“Your father is a craftsman in Ta Set Maat?”
“A stonemason. My half– and stepbrothers too.”
“Perhaps you’d like to accompany me. To tell the truth, I’m not sure where they’re located. I was campaigning when they were buried. And I hate to go with a retinue. Causes too much of a fuss. Will you guide me, Neset?”
I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to be anywhere near this future murderer. All I wanted to do was crawl onto my pallet and curl up and cry for days and days until I had no more tears left inside me. I wanted to be alone and mourn the love I’d just thrown away. I wanted to visit a magician and hire him to send demons into the dreams of Pharaoh’s wife Tiye, to make her miserable, for I was certain Tiye had convinced Pharaoh to arrange Pentawere’s marriage. But I was in no position to turn down a request from the valley’s co–ruler. What might he do to me if I tried? I couldn’t afford to alienate another member of the royal family. “It would be my honor, Majesty,” I lied
“Good. Meet me at the entrance of the per’aa at dawn.”
***
Ta Set Neferu, the Place of Beauty, where royal wives and sons and daughters were buried, occupied the steep sides of a wadi that curved south and west a little over half a mile directly northwest of Djeme. Though Ramesses was a bit shorter than average, only a couple of inches taller than me, I had trouble keeping up with his brisk soldier’s strides. Two butlers laden with linen sacks – I’d met one, Henutenamon, in the per’aa – and two bodyguards – Mayernu and, not surprisingly, Ramesses’ chariot driver Kairy – trailed us at a distance. Kairy had nodded respectfully to me when Ramesses and the rest met me outside Djeme’s gate. He hadn’t spoken, hadn’t alluded to our encounter with Bunakhtef. Mayernu had openly leered.
I wished I hadn’t agreed to guide Ramesses today. My dream made him out to be a monster. What was I going to say to him to fill the long hours, this co–ruler of the valley, a man I didn’t know? What might anger him? What might he do if he was angered? Adding that uncertainty and pressure to my sleepless night, the day would likely be, for me, a disaster.
I hadn’t slept because I’d replayed over and over my conversation with Pentawere and our excruciating leave–taking. The fact I’d never be with him again hadn’t entirely sunk in yet. It was too awful to contemplate. For so many months a flame of hope had burned deep within my heart, an expectation that we were going to save Pharaoh together and become husband and wife. Now that flame was extinguished. I was entirely empt
y inside. Pentawere was married to a wretch and probably sleeping in his bride’s arms at this very moment. He was lost to me. At least spending the day with Ramesses would keep me occupied, maybe even keep my mind off Pentawere for a few hours. Maybe I’d have a few moments of forgetfulness.
“Explain everything we see today, Neset,” Ramesses commanded. “I don’t know Waset and the west bank as well as I should. I’ve spent too much time at Pi–Ramesses and in Setjet and Retenu.”
“As you wish, Majesty.”
We passed south of Qurnet Murai. The sun was hot on my bare shoulders. To our right Ta Set Maat was visible in its narrow constricted valley, its rooftop gardens providing the only bright color. The hill to its west was swarming with people. Thin columns of smoke spiraled upwards from tomb openings and chapels. I’d be there right now too, honoring my ancestors, if not for Ramesses’ order. A similar smoky haze drifted above hills farther north.
“That hill contains tombs constructed by Ta Set Maat’s villagers,” I noted. “There are hundreds of tombs on the hill Qurna north of here – resting places of viziers, governors, mayors, administrators, military officers, priests, scribes, superintendents and others. Thousands have crossed the river from Waset today to visit those tombs.”
“Including you if I hadn’t asked you to guide me,” Ramesses guessed.
I nodded. “For us on the west bank the Beautiful Feast of the Valley is an opportunity to strengthen the bonds between living and dead family members, a reunion of sorts. Everyone you see on the hills spent last night beside their ancestors’ tombs, dressed in their best garments, with unguent cones on their heads and garlands of fresh flowers around their necks. They presented fragrant garlands to the dead. Musicians played. Everyone danced. They feasted. Then most drank themselves into a state of ecstasy, beyond drunkenness, uniting themselves with the kas of their ancestors.”
“You grew up in Ta Set Maat, Neset?” Ramesses asked.
“Yes. Everyone who lives there now has. No outsiders. Jobs have passed from father to son for dozens of generations. Most people live in their ancestors’ house.”
“Is it a good life?”
“Not as good as a pharaoh’s,” I said, “but better than most in the valley. Craftsmen are paid in emmer and barley and dried fish and beans and garlic and onions and lettuce and pomegranates and grapes and dates and figs. They’re supplied with fuel for their bread ovens, and water, and cloth, clothing, furniture, cooking utensils, lamps. Many labor on their behalf – woodcutters, water carriers, fishermen, gardeners like myself, washermen, potters and delivery men. On special occasions they receive baskets of dates, sweet cakes, honey, wine, spices, salt, cooking oils, meat and fowl from your father – life, prosperity, health to him.”
“And someday from me. How do villagers spend their free time?”
“In the evenings they play games and sing and gossip with neighbors in their reception rooms while their children run around outside. Although, when I lived there most children gathered on my roof at night. I told them ancient tales about Ta Set Maat and the valley’s kings and pharaohs. We’re great storytellers in Ta Set Maat, Majesty – that’s how we pass on traditions and knowledge from generation to generation. Villagers take part in numerous festivals. The one in honor of the village’s founder, Osiris–pharaoh Amenhotep, lasts four days. Some men drink that entire time. Others spend it in the village brothel.” I hesitated. “Supposedly there’s a huge celebration when a pharaoh dies because that always means much extra work to finish his tomb in time for the funerary rites, with prompt payment for the craftsmen and sometimes even generous bonuses. If the new pharaoh is old and in a hurry to build his tomb there’s even more work and more pay. But, of course, I don’t know if that’s true, since your father – life, prosperity, health – has reigned for so long.”
“If Father lives to be as old as the pharaoh he idolizes, Ramesses the Great, perhaps I’ll be one of those old pharaohs newly crowned who’ll need to pay a bonus,” Ramesses chuckled.
“I pray not, Majesty,” I said solemnly. If my dream was correct he’d never be crowned Pharaoh and would never be buried in the Great Place.
“You’d have Father die soon, so I could take the throne now?” Ramesses asked with mock sternness.
“No, Majesty!” I exclaimed, horrified at his interpretation of my words. “Of course not! I love Pharaoh. He’s been so kind to me. I only meant…”
Ramesses laughed. “I know exactly what you meant, Neset, and that you meant no harm by it.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. “It’s a dilemma, for those of us in power. For us to achieve higher position those we love must die.”
A dilemma he was going to resolve in his favor by assassinating his father. “That must be a heavy burden, Majesty,” I said. A chance to gauge his feelings.
“It can be, for an ambitious and impatient man. But I assure you, Neset, I’m content in my position, and for Father to live for a very long time.”
He’d just lied to me. But I surely couldn’t call him on it.
We walked a bit farther. I paused and pointed to an ancient path leading to the crest of the western hills. “At the beginning of each work week, when a pharaoh’s tomb is being prepared, craftsmen hike from Ta Set Maat to the Great Place on that path. It takes about an hour. At the boundary of the Great Place are three stone steps next to a Medjay guard post that mark the beginning of the descent into the sacred valley, what we call ‘the interior.’ Small stone shrines line the path between village and boundary where workmen place tiny statuettes, stelae, and candles, and pray to the mountain goddess Meretseger. The men rarely return home at night when they’re working. They sleep instead in permanent huts on a plateau along the path halfway between valley and village. Some of the huts are centuries old and have been used by the same family for at least that long. Women carry food to the workers from Ta Set Maat each evening. The workers sit around after they eat and tell stories and play games and talk.”
“Their wives?”
“They remain in the village and care for their children. They have domestic help – laundrymen and cleaning girls who rotate to different houses on a staggered basis.” Unless arranged by my husband for a different purpose. “Almost everyone in the village is related to someone else in several ways. The villagers double as healers, letter writers, lawyers, seamstresses, fortune tellers, farmers, and gardeners.”
“Like you?”
“Yes, Majesty. As you know, my grandfather oversaw all the gardens in this part of the valley. I used to follow him around when I was a child. I loved that he could place seeds in the ground and make them grow into so many things. For years I helped him oversee the planting of crops near the six shallow mile–wide basins of water left after the inundation recedes here at Waset. I loved watching plants emerge from the earth – emmer, barley, sorghum, pulses, onions, garlic, melons. I loved taking part in the harvest. Being outside all day, beneath azure skies, surrounded by green fields, seeing the silver river, golden hills, crimson sunsets, the florescent afterglow – it made me happy. Like Grandfather, growing things came naturally to me. After I married I made a garden of my own on the roof of my house. It was unsurpassed in the village. After my husband died I began working with Grandfather at Djeme and came to the attention of Pharaoh and he graciously made me overseer of his garden. Then he gave me Grandfather’s position after he died.”
The village was out of sight now. We were moving towards the head of the valley where Ta Set Neferu lay.
“What do your villagers do when they aren’t digging tombs for pharaohs?”
“Your father and the pharaohs before him have granted them a funerary concession,” I replied. “In their spare time and on their days off they barter their skills in exchange for luxuries. There’s a ready market for their services; all the priests and bureaucrats in Waset need tombs and grave goods. A scribe will spend as much as a thousand deben on his tomb and its furnishings. A simple laborer’s will cost two hundred – or thi
rty month’s pay. Carpenters and painters work on coffins; others perform elaborate rituals to bring those coffins to life and make them living receptacles for mummies. Stonemasons excavate tombs and painters decorate them. Sculptors make statues. Naturally, craftsmen barter their skills back and forth with their friends to create their own tombs and furnishings.”
We neared our destination. I reflected that so far Ramesses was not behaving like I’d expected a co–ruler to behave, nor a murderer. He wasn’t the harsh detached man Pentawere had portrayed him to be. He seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, and had a great curiosity about the valley and its people. If I hadn’t foreseen his future in my dream I would have liked him. It occurred to me that if I could forge an acquaintance with him, as I had his father, perhaps he’d let something slip inadvertently before he moved against Pharaoh. Maybe that would help Pentawere stop him. Maybe I’d even be able to dissuade him. But, to gain that much trust, I knew I had to tell Ramesses the truth about me. Doing it, I’d be risking everything. If he reacted badly he could have me removed as overseer – or worse, like Tiye had threatened. It was bad enough Pharaoh now knew about my husband, thanks to Tiye revealing my past last night. How was I going to look Pharaoh in the eyes tomorrow morning on the tower stairs after I’d deceived him for so long? I truly loved him and I hadn’t wanted to disappoint him. Then I remembered that Kairy was with us today. A man who might or might not have been spying on me at Ramesses’ command. If he had been, he likely knew everything about me and my past already. In that case, I had no choice but to tell Ramesses about my husband. Otherwise, he’d know I was keeping a secret and wasn’t trustworthy. But if he didn’t already know… My head was starting to pound. I took a deep breath, stopped dead in my tracks. Ramesses stopped beside me. Those trailing us halted as well.
“Majesty, there’s something truly awful you need to know about me.” I gazed up at Qurn, whispered a prayer to Meretseger for strength. “I told you my husband is dead.” I lowered my eyes in shame. “He was executed for robbing the tomb of Osiris–pharaoh Ramesses the Great – life, prosperity, health – justified.”
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 45