“You figured that out too.”
“How are we going to stop this foolishness, Kairy?”
“We can’t until the Chief reveals himself, I’m afraid.”
“Years, then.”
“Probably. He’ll appear when he’s ready to challenge Pharaoh face to face for his throne. Pentawere will be there. And me. And the mercenary army. After the Chief proclaims Pentawere is the valley’s rightful ruler I’m sure he’ll turn to me to confirm his parentage.”
“And you will? You’ll betray Pharaoh, like you promised me, to keep Pentawere safe?”
“If I have no other choice.”
Maia looked at me uneasily. “No other choice? Do you think there’s a way to keep Pharaoh on his throne without risking Pentawere’s life?”
“I don’t know, My Love. But there’s so much dissension in this village. Maybe I’ll be able to turn it to my advantage. Nehi treats the mercenaries like dirt simply because they’re from Ta Seti. Neby and Nehi and Debhen can’t stand each other. All three fear Sabestet. I suspect he’ll treat the mercenaries with even more contempt than Nehi does. And now with these women added – they’re going to set the men at each other’s throats.”
“I noticed shadowy figures lurking along the edge of the lake watching the women bathe tonight,” Maia said. “Jealousy and lust will indeed rip this village apart.”
A few horses whinnied in the stables, faintly.
Maia linked her fingers in mine. “So now we wait for the Chief to make his move.”
“Unless we can identify him earlier and nip his rebellion in the bud. Thanks to Sabestet, we know the Chief is the girls’ father. It’s fortunate Neby assigned you to care for them. Keep your ears open. Maybe they’ll let their father’s name slip and I’ll be able to get word to Pharaoh.”
“I will.” She edged closer to me. “What’s going to happen to you and me and Pentawere and Semat after this is all over?”
“Pharaoh gave me an estate outside Nekhen. My brother and sister live there, with their families. So will we.”
“I’d like that, Kairy.” Maia leaned over and kissed my cheek. “So will our next daughter.”
1143 BC: 1st Regnal Year of Ramesses, Sixth of His Name
Shemu (Harvest)
Kairy
We were gathered inside Sabestet’s hut – Sabestet, Debhen, Neby, Pentawere, Nehi and me. A messenger had arrived at the village several hours earlier, dust–covered, haggard, his horse nearly dead on its feet. Sabestet had conferred with him for a long time in private, then sent for us.
Sabestet stood. He raised the cup of wine he was drinking high. He beamed. “Pharaoh is dead!”
A moment of shocked silence.
“He wasn’t even thirty!” Debhen exclaimed.
“The judgment of the gods was on him!” Neby gloated.
My heart sank in my chest. I’d been close to the fifth Ramesses when he was the Falcon in the Nest. Once again, another pharaoh I’d have to mourn away from prying eyes. I glanced at Pentawere. He was only ten, but I was certain these priests would consider him old enough to use now.
“Majesty, it’s time for you to claim your throne,” Sabestet told Pentawere. “The dead Pharaoh’s uncle, also Amenherkoshef, expects to succeed him. No doubt he’ll style himself the sixth Ramesses.”
Pentawere looked frightened. During the past year Sabestet had intensively schooled him on his future role. Yet he was still a boy who’d spent his entire life sheltered from the world, about to be called upon to do a man’s work.
I was uneasy too. The fourth and fifth Ramesses had been involved in my placing Pentawere among the traitors. I had no idea if they’d told the sixth about our plot. If they hadn’t, he might consider me to be a traitor for real. Although Vizier Neferronpet knew everything. Thing was, for all I knew he was dead too, or had been replaced. If he had, the confrontation with Pharaoh was going to be very problematic for me. If the vizier was dead, it was almost certain I’d have to betray Pharaoh to save Pentawere and myself.
“Where and when?” Debhen asked.
“The false pharaoh’s going to embark on a traditional progression,” Sabestet answered. “His first stop will be Nekhen. That’s where we’ll seize the throne.”
My home town. Assuming Neset and Aya hadn’t been discovered in the past decade, that’s where they lived now. On the estate I’d given to Ani and Iput. Emissaries of the falcon god, in the home of the falcon god. I wondered if they’d somehow be involved in the upcoming clash. Though I couldn’t picture how. No one knew the two of them were alive, except for my family.
“We’ll march for Nekhen first thing in the morning, Majesty,” Sabestet announced. “The Chief and your highest–ranking supporters will meet us a day’s journey or so outside town. We’ll camp together that night. A day later we’ll interrupt the coronation ceremony at Nekhen. The Chief will proclaim your birthright. Kairy will testify you’re Pentawere’s son. Your army will arrest the false Pharaoh and the so–called royal family. The Chief will crown you. You’ll receive the fealty of the gathered officials.”
“It sounds so simple,” Pentawere said.
“Your wives will come with us. We’ll crown them alongside you.”
“What about Mother Maia?” Pentawere asked.
It irritated Sabestet whenever Pentawere referred to her by that title. Pentawere did it every time the opportunity presented itself.
“She’ll come with us to serve your wives.”
The journey wasn’t going to be easy for Maia. Our infant daughter, Aspelta, was only ten months old. It was going to be hard on five year–old Semat too. But I knew there was no chance Maia would stay behind in the village when Pentawere’s life was on the line. She’d have snuck after us if Sabestet hadn’t allowed her to come.
“What’ll happen after His Majesty’s crowned at Nekhen?” Debhen asked. “Will he continue with the progression?”
“No. We’ll return to Djeme immediately on the royal barque,” Sabestet replied. “His Majesty will bury the fifth Ramesses in the Great Place, confirming his legitimacy as successor.” Sabestet addressed Pentawere. “And then, Majesty, your wives will finally share your bed. You’ll need to produce an heir or two as quickly as possible.”
It had been interesting watching Pentawere and Nefertari and Meritaten interact this past year. The girls had treated Pentawere like a naïve little boy, which he was, feigning respect in his presence, whispering about him scornfully when he wasn’t around. Or so Maia had reported. They’d considered her to simply be another servant and had talked freely in front of her. The first months after their arrival Pentawere had tried to get to know them, drawn as any boy that age would be to older girls, especially ones he was married to. He’d quickly decided they were intolerable. Something he’d confided to Maia but hadn’t mentioned to the priests or girls. “I’ll decide who I marry when I become Pharaoh, not Sabestet or the Chief,” he’d insisted to Maia. “I’m going to set Nefertari and Meritaten aside first thing.”
He’d inherited Maia’s independent streak.
“What about Pharaoh’s army?” Nehi asked Sabestet. “Will my father lead the Amen Division to Nekhen to protect him, in which case his soldiers will back the Chief and our men can stand aside? Or will Pharaoh bring Ptah or Re or Seth with him for our mercenaries to fight?”
Sabestet laughed. “Your father’s sent word that Amenherkoshef isn’t bringing any soldiers with him, just a few bodyguards. Antef personally convinced the false pharaoh there’s no need, since his nephew wasn’t challenged during his reign. He reiterated the rumor our people have spread widely – that Kairy and Pentawere’s son were swallowed up by the desert sand years ago and are dead and so pose no threat to Pharaoh. A rumor most people in the valley believe.”
Including the sixth Ramesses, apparently, since he was going to travel to Nekhen without military protection. That mistake had just tipped the odds of taking Pharaoh’s throne completely in the traitors’ favor. I’d onc
e believed recruiting and training the mercenaries might make them loyal to me, a tool I could use to stop the traitors. The mercenaries preferred me to Nehi, certainly, but were hardly loyal enough to turn at my request on the men who were paying them to fight on Pentawere’s behalf. So Pharaoh was officially doomed. I expected the traitors would execute him, not simply arrest him as Sabestet had just told us. In fact, because of the army I’d raised for the Chief, if he wanted he could simply seize the throne and sit it in his own name. I didn’t know him; he might be hungry enough for power to do it. But I presumed he’d stick to his plan and declare Pentawere to be the rightful ruler. That would give the coup a sense of legitimacy and nip potential opposition to the change in ruler in the bud. The Chief would probably be content to exercise power through Pentawere. One thing was crystal clear now – when the Chief called on me to affirm that Pentawere was Neset’s son, I would without hesitation. Lying wouldn’t save Pharaoh’s life, but it would save Pentawere’s.
“Kairy, have my mercenaries ready to march at dawn,” Nehi ordered brusquely.
My. The first time he’d ever claimed them. “I will, Commander.” I immediately rose and headed for the barracks to address the men and begin preparations.
***
We were within two days of Nekhen when I heard a commotion in the column some distance behind me. I was riding with the mercenaries; the priests and women were at the head of the column, trailed by Nehi’s Northern soldiers and then my men. I wheeled my horse and hurried towards the ruckus. About a dozen mercenaries were angrily milling about, their horses kicking up dust. Several Northern horsemen were lined up close by, lances lowered menacingly. A mercenary was on the ground. Nehi was standing over him, beating him with the whip he always carried. The mercenary was curled into the fetal position, trying to protect his head with his hands. Bloody stripes laced a shoulder and arm and his ribs.
I jumped from my horse before he stopped and caught hold of Nehi’s arm just as he was about to strike again. “What are you doing?” I shouted.
Nehi jerked his arm away, glared. Sweat was pouring off him. “This man left the column! He was trying to desert! I won’t have it, not on the eve of battle!” He sliced the air with his whip. “See to your wretches, Kairy!” He spat at my feet, pointed his whip at me. “Or next time you’ll be on the receiving end.” One of his Northern soldiers led his horse to him. Nehi mounted and kicked the beast in the ribs. It leapt forward, scattering sand and dirt. Nehi galloped off towards the head of the column, followed by his men.
I knelt beside the mercenary. Ashemors was already attending to him. “What happened?”
“Heat and sun,” Ashemors said. “He collapsed and toppled from his horse.”
“Nehi beat him for that?”
“An excuse,” Karakhamen said, dismounting and kneeling beside us. “Last week Nehi caught this man in a hut along with one of the serving women who attends His Majesty’s wives. The woman from Kush. The same woman Nehi’s been forcing himself on for months.”
“Nehi was supposed to keep the women and men separated.”
Ashemors snorted. “The mercenaries and the women, yes. Him and his Northern soldiers, no. They’ve gotten half the women in the village pregnant.”
The three of us helped the injured man onto his horse. Two more pressed close on either side to keep him from falling again. Karakhamen and Ashemors remounted and the three of us fell in at the rear of the column, out of earshot of the men.
“I’ve never seen Nehi whip one of his men,” Karakhamen groused. “But plenty of my men bear scars.”
I hadn’t been able to curb Nehi’s whip wielding. I’d complained loudly and often to Sabestet and Neby and Debhen. All three had told me not to interfere with my superior.
Ashemors coughed from the dust rolling our way. “Notice how Nehi’s men are at the head of the column where the air is cleaner, and ours are at the rear?”
“Nehi arranged the column that way on purpose,” Karakhamen chimed in.
“Did you know he demands a percentage of every man’s pay, Kairy?” Ashemors queried. “He says we’ll be made whole from booty once His Majesty’s on the throne. None of us believes him.”
“We’re tired of being underpaid.”
“And mistreated.”
“It’s intolerable!”
I’d had no idea Nehi was skimming. “I wish there was something I could do,” I said sincerely.
“We don’t blame you for any of it, Kairy,” Ashemors assured me. “You’ve treated us with honor and respect. But you’re as inconsequential as we are.”
“And treated as badly,” Karakhamen commiserated.
We rode for awhile in silence, our shadows lengthening before us, for Re was descending behind us in the west. I felt horrible for my friends, and myself. Since the moment we’d set out for Nekhen I’d been weighed down by a profound sense of guilt. A decade ago the fourth Ramesses had sent me to live among these traitors so I could stop them and preserve his line. Not only had I failed, but in two days I was going to lie and proclaim that Pentawere had royal blood and was the valley’s rightful ruler. The traitors would then execute Pharaoh. Pentawere would spend the rest of his life as the Chief’s puppet as the Chief ruled the valley. If only Pharaoh had decided to bring loyal elements of his army to Nekhen. Then I’d be able to proclaim the truth of Pentawere’s birth and the traitors’ pretense of legitimacy would crumble. It was truly amazing to me that this conspiracy had held together for so long with so much internal dissension – Nehi hated Debhen and Neby, both hated Nehi, all three hated Sabestet, the mercenaries despised Nehi, the Northern soldiers looked down on the mercenaries. I’d believed ever since I’d witnessed Neby and Nehi’s first confrontation immediately after we arrived at the oasis that someday the traitors’ internal dissension might be their downfall, that I might be able to use it to my advantage to tear them apart from within. But I hadn’t found a way so far, and time had nearly run out. I caught sight of the mercenary Nehi had beaten a short distance ahead, reeling in his saddle. His friends caught him and kept from toppling off his horse again. It suddenly occurred to me that Nehi’s unconscionable beating of that mercenary might be exactly what I’d been waiting for. Nehi’s brutality might have just provided me with an opportunity to give the traitors’ fragile unity a push to see if it might shatter.
Pharaoh was doomed because the traitors would have an army at Nekhen and he wouldn’t. But what if the traitors didn’t have an army either? With a growing sense of excitement, I recalled Neset’s story of the strike by the craftsmen of Ta Set Maat. They hadn’t been paid, so they’d refused to excavate a tomb for one of Pharaoh’s sons. According to my companions, Nehi had stolen part of the mercenaries’ pay. What if I could convince them to go on strike over it, or even abandon the traitors? By sunset our column was due to rendezvous with the Chief. I’d finally be able to identify all the key traitors. If I could convince the mercenaries to melt away into the night, perhaps I’d be able to slip away from camp with Pentawere and Maia and my girls and reach Nekhen and report to Pharaoh. He’d be able to flee to safety at Waset on his royal barque, then send an army south to round up the traitors. As far as convincing the mercenaries to turn on the traitors – I’d recruited them. I’d trained them. I’d shared hardships with them. I knew every one by name. It might be possible.
“Once His Majesty’s on the throne I’ll talk him into making you and your men whole,” I told the captains.
“Are you blind, Kairy?” Ashemors sneered. “These priests are in control. His Majesty’s going to be their puppet. He won’t be able to do anything without their permission. I wouldn’t be surprised if the priests send us packing once they have no further use for us.”
Time to take advantage of the mercenaries’ grievances. “I recall a similar situation more than a decade ago at a place called Ta Set Maat, Ashemors. The craftsmen from that village construct tombs for pharaohs and royals. But Pharaoh stopped paying them. So they put down th
eir tools and refused to work. What they did was indispensable to Pharaoh. He was forced to meet their demands.”
“Indispensable. Like we are to these priests,” Karakhamen said thoughtfully.
“With an attack on Nekhen imminent, you’ll never have as much leverage as you have now,” I pointed out.
Karakhamen and Ashemors looked at each other and grinned.
I rode back to my position in the column, leaving them to ponder my words.
I’d barely settled the mercenaries for the night in their section of camp when a servant summoned me to the Chief’s campfire. His tent was pitched beside three others, apart from everyone else. The Chief was seated on a leather–bottomed chair facing Debhen and Sabestet and Neby and Nehi and Pentawere and three other priests I didn’t recognize. The Chief was in his early fifties, stout, richly dressed, draped with jewels. The resemblance between the Chief and Pentawere’s wives was striking. Several men were standing a ways from the campfire, out of hearing range. Based on their clothing they were servants, perhaps minor priests. Two young girls were attending the Chief, pouring wine and passing out honeyed cakes. They’d already served Pentawere, but not the priests.
“This is Kairy,” Sabestet said as I stepped into the light. “He oversees the mercenaries.”
“The kidnapper?” the Chief asked.
Sabestet nodded. “Kairy, this is Bek. The Chief.”
“My Lord.” I bowed. A name at last.
The Gardener and the Assassin Page 82