“There was a woman named Maetkra, who lived when Khufu was king,” I began. “She was a seamstress. She sewed clothing for the workers who were erecting his pyramid, the largest ever built.”
“Have you seen it?” Bakist interrupted.
“I have. And I hope all of you get to some day. After a thousand years it still dominates the plateau at Giza, a man–made mountain testifying to Khufu’s might. Make no mistake girls – he was truly mighty. Everyone in the entire valley was involved in building his pyramid – either directly, or supporting those who were. Now, Maetkra was forced to marry a powerful man who owned an estate in Ta–mehi. Her husband claimed the battle King Narmer fought to unite this valley under his rule took place on his family’s land. Whether that’s true or not, who can say? Anyway, one day Maetkra’s husband took her to a banquet in King Khufu’s per’aa. She wore a dress that she’d designed. Some of the king’s women were so impressed they asked her to design dresses for them. So, for a time, she served as dressmaker for several royals.
“Now, the linen available for the royal women was inferior to that Maetkra made on her estate. So, one day, she sailed from her estate to the pyramid village with bolts of her linen. She convinced the overseer in charge of linen to supply the royals with hers. This was despite the fact that Maetkra’s husband had told her to simply run his household and stay out of everyone’s way. But Maetkra was not content to spend her life meekly, her talents unused, as I hope none of you will be either.”
“Maetkra defied her husband?” Ipu asked.
“She did. And you know what happened then?”
“He punished her?” Abar guessed.
I laughed. “The king’s women told the king how pleased they were with their new linen and dresses. The king told Maetkra’s husband how pleased he was that his women were pleased. Maetkra’s husband gained status in the king’s eyes, thanks to her initiative. After that he let her do whatever she wanted.”
I rose before dawn the next morning along with everyone else. We all ate a hurried breakfast. While Kama saw to the loading of the donkeys I helped Abar fill two containers with eggs. She and I would each carry one to keep the eggs from breaking.
We set out at daybreak on the mile–long trek to Nekhen – me, Tiaa, Bakist, Abar, Ipu and Kama. Amenia remained behind with Beketaten and Iput, to assist in case Beketaten went into labor; the women’s husbands remained to tend to their daily duties.
The market already covered a quarter–mile of waterfront when we arrived, goods displayed in temporary stalls or on mats spread on the ground. Customers with leather bags slung over their shoulders, crammed with items to barter, were already inspecting a jeweler’s baubles and bangles, a woodworker’s shabati and small statues of gods, and small jars and vessels created by a glassblower. Two potters were seated side by side, loudly promoting their jars and platters and disparaging each other’s. A weaver was unrolling a bolt of fine cloth to tempt a potential buyer. Locals were offering bread and beer and fish and vegetables. “A dozen onions for a jar of beer!” one cried. A beer stand and a stand offering delicacies were doing a brisk business. A few musicians played at one end of the market, their music drowned out by the cacophony of sound.
A dozen large cargo boats loaded with great blocks of stone, all lying very low in the water, were tied up along the river, so close to each other that they were nearly touching. Sailors were disembarking, carrying their extra grain and beer rations with which to barter. Iput was right – this was going to be a profitable day.
The girls – or, rather, young women – and Kama and I set up near the musicians, arranging what we’d brought atop a dozen reed mats. We were immediately swarmed by locals, for our estate was known for the quality of what we produced. Hours passed in a nonstop blur of inspecting and negotiating and conversing. Gradually, our mats emptied and the area behind us filled with what we’d taken in exchange.
“Neset?”
I was seated on my haunches, bartering the few eggs remaining in the basket I’d carried from the estate with a priest’s wife. Instinctively, I looked up. I immediately regretted it. A bad move. Responding to my name in public was beyond foolish. I’d been caught off guard. A man was looming over me. He’d recognized me. Was this why I hadn’t seen myself in my dream? Because today I’d been discovered and was going to be returned to Djeme and burned?
“I’m sorry. You’re mistaken,” I said hastily.
He hunkered down. “You must remember me, Neset. I’m Nakhtamen. Nauny’s brother.”
My heart fell. I knew him quite well, though I hadn’t seen him in years and he’d obviously changed. He’d grown up just down the street from me in Ta Set Maat. He’d spent many evenings on my roof as a boy, listening to my stories. “Of course I remember you.” Had I just signed my death warrant? I tried to keep fear out of my voice.
“You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Please. You can’t tell anyone I’m alive,” I said earnestly. “And please lower your voice.” I swept the vicinity with my eyes. No one seemed to be paying any attention to us. Just two people bartering.
“Don’t worry. If I told anyone Wabkhet would kill me,” Nakhtamen averred.
“Really? Wabhket? My Wabkhet?”
“Mine, actually. She’s my wife, Neset. We live on your estate. She named our daughter after you.”
“Daughter!”
“Born two months ago,” he said proudly. “She looks just like Wabkhet.”
I was overwhelmed. “Congratulations, Nakhtamen! How is Wabkhet? And Nauny?”
“They’re both fine. But can we get caught up later? I need your help, Neset. It’s urgent.”
“For what?”
“There’s a sailor on my boat. He fell dreadfully ill last night. No one knows what to do. I know you’re a healer. I came to the market hoping to find one. It’s lucky I ran into you. Will you take a look at him?”
My immediate impulse was to say yes. I cared for anyone who fell ill on my estate. But if I helped this sailor it would increase the odds I’d be discovered. What if there was someone else on Nakhtamen’s boat from Waset? Someone who wasn’t married to one of my friends? By going to that vessel I’d be putting my life in danger and everyone else’s on the estate. I’d hidden successfully for three years. Now was not the time to be careless. As I’d just been.
Yet, gazing around me at the bustling market, full of life and laughter and good–natured banter, I knew I’d been doing more than hiding the past three years. I’d been limiting myself, avoiding Nekhen and those who lived here, failing to be part of something I craved. A community. I hadn’t been truly living. I may have escaped the prison that my estate at Waset had been, but Ani’s estate had simply taken its place. So – was I going to continue letting fear cost me a semblance of a normal life, or did I want to begin living for real despite the risk? “I’ll help.”
“Thank you, Neset.”
“What are you doing so far from Waset?” I asked as we headed for his boat.
“I’ve been selected to engrave a stela for Pharaoh. I oversaw the quarrying of the block of stone at Abu. I’ve been carving it on the return voyage.”
“What’s Pharaoh going to do with it?”
“Install it at Abdju.”
As his father had done for Grandfather. “You’ve risen fast, Nakhtamen,” I said approvingly. “Usually a stonemason from Ta Set Maat would have to be much older to gain such an important commission.”
“Much has changed in the Place of Truth since the fourth Ramesses succeeded his father,” he replied. “There were many delays in payment to us workers the first fifteen months of his reign.”
That was surprising. “Why?”
“Pharaoh was sending expeditions all over the valley to obtain stone to construct new temples and even to mine copper. That supposedly consumed the resources due us. Why, he didn’t even have time to select a site for his tomb in the Great Place until his second year. Once he did, because he’d fallen so far behind
schedule, Vizier Neferronpet doubled the workforce to one hundred twenty men overnight.”
I was amazed. “Where did he find so many skilled craftsmen?”
“Skilled? Hardly. He pressed children of craftsmen and village servants into service. Some are fairly competent, most aren’t. Turns out I’m the most competent new stone mason. Hence the commission.”
We climbed the gangplank onto the vessel. The sick sailor was stretched out under a canopy on deck, feverish, moaning pitifully, clutching his stomach. Another sailor was watching him, helpless. I sent him away and then sent Nakhtamen back to our stretch of the riverbank to find Tiaa and obtain specific herbs. While I waited for him to retrieve what I needed I bathed the sailor’s brow with cool water, over and over. Once Nakhtamen returned I brewed a broth and forced the sailor to drink. He fell asleep almost immediately.
I continued to bathe his brow. As I did, Nakhtamen filled me in on his wife and sister and my estate and Ta Set Maat and Djeme and Waset. I was relieved that my friends had found happiness and were thriving.
After an hour the sailor’s fever broke.
“He’ll recover,” I said with satisfaction, my hand on his brow. “Make him rest the next couple of days. No rowing. Feed him broth at first, then solid food a little at a time.”
“Thank you, Neset.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
“Would you like to see my stela before you go back to the market?” Nakhtamen asked shyly.
I followed him to a section of deck near the stern. A length of linen covered a block of stone. He pulled it off.
“I am a legitimate ruler,” I read out loud. “I did not usurp. I am in the place of the one who begot me, just like the son of Isis. Ever since I arose as king upon the throne of Horus I have brought truth to this land which had been without it. I have established plentiful divine offerings for you, Amen, and I have doubled what formerly passed for daily offerings. I have given orders to equip your temple with all kinds of treasures. I have curbed the rebellious. Let their breath be seized within my grasp! May you be in the abode of my children. May they rule in this land. Bestow my great office on my heirs; see, rebels are the bane of Your Majesties.”
Rebels had indeed been the bane of Ramesses since his ascension, and would be again, based on my dream. He was right to be worried about passing his throne to his descendants. “Quite a declaration, Nakhtamen,” I observed. “It almost seems that Pharaoh’s trying to exorcise the ghost of Pentawere and justify his legitimacy.”
“That’s what the elders in Ta Set Maat say.”
“Does anyone mention the night I was supposedly burned?” I asked, lowering my voice. I’d heard many rumors the past three years, passed from person to person until they’d finally reached Nekhen, probably enhanced and altered in the telling. Nakhtamen would hopefully know a more pristine version of the night’s events.
“First, I’m glad you weren’t,” Nakhtamen said. “Wabkhet and Nauny mourned you, Neset. They still do. Anyway, when Pharaoh discovered Kairy had run off with your son – I’ve heard that Pharaoh raged in his audience hall in front of his courtiers for a full hour. He supposedly threw his crook and flail against a wall so hard the crook shattered. Pharaoh declared Kairy a ‘great criminal’ on the spot and sent soldiers both north and south in the valley to find him. They’re still looking, as far as I know.”
“Does anyone know why Kairy ran off?”
“Rumors are he had a falling out with Pharaoh. To get back at him he kidnapped your son. Everyone expects that someday Kairy will try to put your son on the throne in Pharaoh’s place.” Nakhtamen looked at me questioningly. “Why, that would make you the mother of a pharaoh, if he did.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret, Nakhtamen,” I said confidentially. “The boy Kairy took wasn’t mine. I gave birth to a daughter. I think Kairy did what he did – burning a body, kidnapping a boy – to help my daughter and me escape death.” I wasn’t going to tell him what Kairy was truly up to. It was too complicated and speculative. “Anyway, you can tell Wabhket and Nauny I’m alive, and that I miss them very much. But please, don’t tell anyone else. If you do I’ll be hunted down. My life is in your hands now.”
“I promise, Neset.”
I believed him.
At sunset I led our little caravan back to the estate, everyone tired, the donkeys loaded with goods we’d obtained, my life altered. Hopefully for the better. As we passed the birth bower Iput poked her head out.
“You’re just in time, Neset! It’s begun!”
1148 BC: 1st Regnal Year of Ramesses, Fifth of His Name
Peret (Seed)
Kairy
“I don’t recall any supply caravan as large as this the last five years, Kairy. Do you?” Maia asked.
I squinted against the late afternoon glare. Filthy horsemen and burdened donkeys were nearing our small village, a cloud of dust rolling across the plain in their wake. One of Nehi’s lookouts who watched the trails that traversed the oasis had brought news of Neby’s approach a few hours earlier.
“Looks like Neby’s bringing more than supplies this time. So many additional men must mean something’s happened. You should prepare refreshments.”
As I waited at the edge of the village for the caravan to arrive, Maia proceeded to the nearby hut where the traitor who prepared our food lived. Moments later, she and he began passing out of his hut, heavily burdened with platters and jars. They carried them to the well–shaded area in front of our hut, a few paces from the lakeshore. Maia gracefully laid everything out in a rough circle on the ground. Watching her, I still couldn’t believe my good fortune – that she was my wife. I was more in love with her every day. She and Pentawere and I were a true family now, though an unusual one – a boy who thought his mother was his wetnurse, a mother unable to tell her son who she really was, and me, the cause of their disconnect and circumstances, functioning as a faux father. Pentawere was growing into a bright and inquisitive and active boy. A few years ago Neby had told him his father and mother were both dead, but nothing about their backgrounds, for he was far too young to understand the role the traitors expected him to someday play. Pentawere had no clue that the soldiers at the oasis were guarding him; they and the rest of the support workers had been ordered to never tell him. He’d had no reason to make an association between them and his safety. Pentawere considered Maia and me to be his parents, for he’d known no other. Raising him continued to be our job – plus taking care of important visitors to the oasis like today’s in Maia’s case. I knew how much it cost her to maintain the fiction she was only Pentawere’s wetnurse – but she well understood the consequences for all three of us if she revealed the truth.
The horsemen filtered into the settlement. The majority halted in front of the supply huts and dismounted and started unloading the donkeys, assisted by some of the village’s workers. Neby and a companion strode towards me, dusty and sweaty, their skin sun–darkened. I recognized the new arrival immediately. Debhen. A priest, though I didn’t recall the cult. I’d met him at a party in Pi–Ramesses years ago. He’d been drunkenly having his way with two women, neither of them his wife. He’d been in the audience hall the day I’d argued with Pharaoh too. Reflecting now, that seemed a suspicious coincidence. I wondered – had he sent Neby to recruit me afterwards?
Nehi materialized from wherever he’d been resting, clutching his staff of authority. “My Lord Debhen.” He regarded the visitor suspiciously.
Deben was, though trail–worn, dressed in a very fine kilt. He wore bands of gold around his upper arms, and a magnificent broad collar. An aura of command emanated from him. He was clearly Neby’s and Nehi’s superior. A higher rung on the ladder. I wondered how many steps were between him and the head traitor, who everyone at the oasis referred to as “the Chief.”
“Pharaoh’s dead,” Neby announced bluntly.
“Gods be praised!” Nehi exclaimed.
I was stunned. I kept my face impassive so Neby woul
dn’t guess my instantaneous sorrow. Only five years on the throne. The fourth Ramesses had deserved many more. He’d been my friend. A man I’d served in peace and war. A man who’d honored and trusted me. Now he was gone. Was his death going to trigger the confrontation between the traitors and his successor?
“His son Amenherkoshef will be crowned next month,” Neby continued.
“Ramesses, fifth of his name,” Debhen said, shaking his head. “An inexperienced twenty–four year–old. May the gods protect us.”
“May the gods protect us indeed, My Lord!” I hurriedly echoed.
My position in the village was tenuous, even after five years. Nehi openly doubted my loyalty to the traitors’ cause, a skepticism shared by most of his men. I suspected that if Nehi’s superiors didn’t need me to testify that Pentawere was Neset’s son he probably would have killed me and buried me in the desert by now. But my loyalty wasn’t really the issue between us; he resented me for stealing Maia from him, even though she’d never been his. Neby had a slightly better relationship with me, though he received my reports of Pentawere’s development with little comment on his visits to the village. Beyond that we mostly spoke of his hatred for Nehi. Neither man talked about their superiors or the plan for overthrowing Pharaoh in my presence. That wasn’t surprising – I’d supposedly betrayed Pharaoh on the traitors’ behalf, so why would they trust me? Anyway, to remain silent now that Pharaoh was dead might reinforce Nehi and Neby’s doubts about my true loyalty. And if Debhen was as important as he appeared to be, speaking up might improve his perception of me. Especially if I bragged a little. “The son’s even more useless than the father,” I continued. “I should know – I tried for years to turn him into a soldier. But he never took military training seriously. At Pi–Ramesses he spent nearly every night attending a party, getting drunk and collecting women to add to his harem.”
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 77