Ne’arin meant young men, but I didn’t understand. “Who are the Ne’arin?”
Ramesses fixed me with his gaze. “Habiru mercenaries from Canaan.”
I gasped. “Ahmoses?”
“Who else could have summoned them? They appeared out of nowhere with the division of Ptah. They fought like they were possessed by Montu. But how could Ahmoses have known?”
“The Habiru must have been willing to fight for a chance at what they want,” I told him.
Ramesses was quiet, surely thinking about the Habiru in Canaan.
“They will rebel,” he said with certainty. “If they settle with their brothers in Canaan. Their army of Ne’arin were well trained.”
“But they came to fight for you.”
“Because under the Hittites there would be no chance of being set free. In helping me, they are helping themselves. If I don’t set them free, the Ne’arin will rebel. I could crush it. They’re not so many men . . .”
“Enough to save your army.”
Ramesses nodded. “I saw more blood before the walls of Kadesh,” he admitted, “than my father saw in all his years. I vowed to give them victory, but I should not have made that promise. There are many promises I should not have made. I thought I could make the gods listen to me. I thought a victory in Kadesh would write my name in their halls. But the old priestess was wrong. The gods were already listening,” he went on. “They’ve always been listening.”
The Ne’arin were proof of that, I thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
TO DIE BY THE BLADE
Avaris
WHEN WE RETURNED to the city of Avaris and the Dowager Queen saw that Ramesses was safe, she crushed her son in her large embrace, and even took Amunher in her arms, marveling at how big he and his brother had grown.
“In two months they’ve become different children,” she exclaimed, and I wondered if her newfound interest was sparked by the cries of “Warrior Queen” that filled the streets. “Tell me about the battle,” she implored, “and how you helped to crush the Hittites!”
I told her the story, and that evening in the Great Hall, there was a celebration surpassing anything ever seen in Seti’s time. Dancing girls with bracelets on their wrists flitted from one room to the next, laughing and singing with the elated men. Asha presided over a group of noblewomen, recounting for them the story of how he arrived just in time as the Hittites broke down the gates of Kadesh. I noticed them leaning forward to listen, but he seemed to be speaking to one red-haired woman in particular, and I saw with a start that it was the priestess Aloli.
The feasting was to continue for seven days, and each evening when the oil lamps were lit, women emerged from the shadows of the palace with their eyes rimmed in kohl and their cheeks rouged with ochre. Each evening I marveled over the quantities the cooks of Pi-Ramesses unveiled. There were the common servings of olives and dates, but in larger bowls there was goose with honeyed lotus, glazed in heavy pomegranate wine. The scent of slowly roasting meat woke me in the mornings, and by the fifth night in the Great Hall, Ramesses said jokingly, “I think that Amunher and Prehir have doubled in size since returning to Avaris.”
The courtiers around our table laughed, their voices like polished bells, and Iset added eagerly, “Ramessu has grown so big that his hand can fit around a spear. He’ll be hunting hippo before he’s two.” She smiled at Ramesses, but Paser had approached the dais with a scroll, and Ramesses’s attention was diverted.
“There is a message from Kadesh,” Paser announced.
Henuttawy sighed. “Is it always work with you?”
“Yes. Just like for some it is always play.”
Ramesses frowned over the courtiers’ guffaws, taking the scroll from Paser. “This isn’t the seal of Emperor Muwatallis.”
“No. It is the seal of his son, Prince Urhi.”
Ramesses glanced around him. Everything was bright and happy. Women in jeweled collars and linen tunics laughed with young soldiers, who described the Hittites fleeing from the division of Ptah and the Ne’arin. The women never asked how it could be a victory if Egypt had not regained Kadesh; the soldiers saw the battle as a warning to the Hittite king that Egypt would be taken seriously. We had won Emperor Muwatallis’s respect. But then why was his son writing to us, and not the emperor himself? “If it’s bad news,” he whispered to Paser, “I don’t want to read it here. Come into the Per Medjat.” He looked at me, and it was clear that I was invited as well.
I had only been inside Seti’s Per Medjat once before. Seeing it again I realized how much larger it was than the library in Thebes. Scrolls filled the polished wooden shelves, reaching to the top of a chamber painted with images of Thoth, the ibis god of scribes who first invented language. On every wall his beaked head was painted or raised in relief, and scenes from his sacred book were depicted around him. Of course, it is forbidden to read the Book of Thoth, for it is filled with powerful spells. But I wondered if somewhere within Pharaoh Seti’s great library the dangerous book still existed.
We sat at the farthest table, and when Ramesses broke the seal on the prince’s message, I wondered aloud, “Why isn’t Muwatallis himself writing?”
Ramesses looked up from the papyrus. “Because Emperor Muwatallis is dead.”
He handed me the scroll and Paser read it over my shoulder, both of us squinting in the candlelight. “It doesn’t say how he died!”
“But Prince Urhi is writing for confirmation,” Paser replied. “He is telling the kingdoms of the south of his ascension, before his uncle can make a claim for the throne.”
“Muwatallis’s brother,” Ramesses said darkly. “He’s the general who ambushed the division of Ra. General Hattusili.”
And now Hattusili wanted his nephew’s throne. The young prince was writing to Ramesses, asking for his support. Hatti had never asked for aid from Egypt before. “And what about the truce?” I asked fearfully.
Paser was firm. “Prince Urhi will want peace. He will have enough to do in keeping his uncle at bay.”
“Prince Urhi might want peace,” I said, “but if Hattusili takes the throne, how do we know he won’t rise against Egypt?”
“Because he’s already seen war with Pharaoh,” Paser said, “and he didn’t much like it. If there had been a chance of defeating Egypt, he would have convinced his brother to carry on.”
“Then what will Egypt do?” I asked. “There are two contenders for the throne of Hatti. If we pledge support to Urhi, but Hattusili takes the crown . . .”
“We will wait.” Ramesses gave the scroll back to Paser. “Wait until there is a certain victor, and pledge our support to him.”
I glanced up at Paser, who appeared equally impressed that Ramesses was choosing the safest thing to do.
“Shall I draft a message?” Paser wanted to know.
There was the loud creak of the door, then the sound of several sandaled feet making their way across the tiles. The three of us turned, and Henuttawy stepped into the light. I could smell that she had been drinking.
“Ramesses! What are you doing here?”
“There is business to attend to,” Ramesses said severely.
“With Nefertari?” She laughed, and Iset appeared behind her in a netted dress of beads. “The entire feast is waiting for you. Come.” Henuttawy stretched out her bangled hand, and to my surprise, Ramesses refused to take it.
“There is new trouble in Kadesh. This is no time for feasting.”
A messenger burst into the Per Medjat, startling Iset. The young boy straightened his shoulders, trying to appear taller than his height.
“What is the news?” Paser demanded.
“The Emperor of Hatti,” he piped in reply. “He is here, Your Highness, in the Audience Chamber!”
We stood from our table and followed the messenger through the corridors of Pi-Ramesses. Courtiers still danced in the Great Hall, singing and laughing, and Ramesses turned to a passing servant and said, “Send for the
Master of my Charioteers, the generals, and every vizier in this palace.”
The messenger opened the doors to the Audience Chamber, and while laughter filled the halls outside, within there was silence. A lone figure stood near the dais, covered from head to foot in a cloak, and I saw Ramesses tense. But the messenger boy approached the cloaked figure in the darkness. “Your Highness?” he said tentatively.
The man turned, lowering his hood, and I was shocked to see how beautiful he was. He did not have the angular jaw or handsome cheekbones of Paser, nor did he have the same bronze beauty as Ramesses with his sapphire eyes and bright red hair. He had a soft, youthful beauty, and I couldn’t imagine him as the Emperor of Hatti.
“I am Urhi-Teshub,” the cloaked man said in flawless Egyptian.
“And what are you doing in Avaris?” Ramesses demanded. “Is there an army with you?”
“If there was an army with me,” the prince replied bitterly, “I would be using it to defend my crown. Didn’t my message arrive?”
Paser held up the scroll. “It came tonight.”
“Then it came too late,” the Hittite said. “My father died in his sleep and now my uncle has seized the throne. The kingdom that my father left to me has been stolen by his brother. I have come to Egypt seeking the help of the Pharaoh they are calling Ramesses the Brave. I have heard extraordinary things about you—that you are a leader in battle unlike any other. I have heard of your ferocity, how you fought off a hundred of our chariots when your divisions were scattered and fleeing around you. If you will help me regain my throne, I will offer you the cities that your predecessor Akhenaten lost. All of the cities he gave away. They shall be yours, forever, ceded in exchange for your support,” he promised.
I glanced at Ramesses. He had not told me of any personal victories in battle, yet in the streets the people hailed him as a hero. The Hittite prince held out his hand. I wondered if Ramesses would take it.
“This is not something I will decide now,” he said. I heard Paser exhale. “I must summon my generals and my viziers. But you may stay with us until I have determined what to do.”
“And if my uncle demands my return?”
“You will find safe refuge here.”
“He will know I am here,” Prince Urhi warned. “He will ask that you send me back to Hatti so that he can receive me with open arms.” His tone was caustic.
“Then he will have to content himself with receiving your letters instead.” Ramesses turned to Paser. “Give the prince the largest guest chamber in Pi-Ramesses. Have someone escort him to the feast.”
“I will take him,” Henuttawy said quickly. “Let me show the Hittite emperor how we Egyptians celebrate.” She held out her arm, and as Urhi took it his dark eyes grew luminous.
When she led him away, Ramesses remarked smugly, “He may not want to return to Hatti after this.”
I wondered if the prince would be so radiant if he knew what Henuttawy really was.
We moved ourselves to the longest table in the room, and as the generals and viziers arrived, Asha glanced at Iset. “Wouldn’t you rather be in the Great Hall, Princess?”
“Would Nefertari rather be in the Great Hall?” she snapped.
“Yes,” I said curtly, “but the business of Egypt is more important.”
When the heavy doors to the chamber were shut, Ramesses saw that Iset had stayed and said kindly, “You may rejoin the feast.”
“Is Nefertari going as well?”
“No, Nefertari is remaining here,” he said calmly. “She can contribute to this meeting in a dozen different ways. Is there anything you would like to contribute?”
Iset looked between the viziers for their support, yet their faces were all set against her.
“Then I think your skills are best used in the Great Hall,” Ramesses said, and although he was not purposely slighting her, she turned on her heel and stormed from the chamber. The doors swung shut behind her with a crash that echoed through the room. The generals avoided Ramesses’s gaze. Ramesses looked at me, and even I looked away so he would know how shameful Iset’s behavior had become.
Paser cleared his throat tactfully. “Prince Urhi,” he began, “is the son of Emperor Muwatallis. He brings news that the emperor has died in his sleep.”
There was startled conversation around the table, and Paser waited while the generals speculated what could have been the cause. Rahotep said it must have been poison. General Kofu thought it might have been the stress of war.
“Whatever it was,” Paser went on, “the throne has passed to his son, Prince Urhi. But Urhi is seventeen and has never led an army. He is not Pharaoh Ramesses and the people don’t trust him. They have accepted his uncle, General Hattusili, on the throne in his stead.”
“So what does this prince want Egypt to do?” Anhuri’s voice was suspicious.
“He wants us to place him back on the throne,” Ramesses replied. “And he has arrived in Avaris with a very attractive offer.”
Paser spoke up. “Prince Urhi has offered a return of the lands that the Heretic lost.”
“All of them?” Asha challenged.
“All,” Ramesses replied.
“And how do we know he won’t change his mind?” Asha shook his head. “Look at Kadesh! No Hittite can be trusted.”
Ramesses agreed. “We could march into Hatti and discover a trap. We might discover that Urhi hasn’t been displaced from his throne at all. We could be ambushed, and all of Egypt would be lost.”
“I don’t think Urhi is that cunning,” I said. “He has never led an army into battle. Listen to what the Hittite servants in this palace have all said about him. They take their gossip from travelers who come by, and they call him pretty, they call him a prince, but never an emperor. Who among us would dare to call Ramesses a prince?”
None of the men at the table spoke up.
“If Ramesses were to follow him into Hatti, Egypt would profit, and Urhi wouldn’t dare to go back on his word. He’s not a fighter. But he may be a fool, and if that is the case, how can such a man be expected to keep a crown?”
The viziers nodded in agreement with me. Egypt could help return Urhi’s throne, but if he lost it a second time, then what was the purpose?
“And the truce?” Asha asked. “If the prince remains here, what will Hattusili do?”
“He may go back on his brother’s truce,” Vizier Nebamun predicted.
“But Hatti is not as strong as she was,” Paser argued. “While she was busy stealing our land in the north after the Heretic’s death, Assyria conquered the kingdom of Mitanni.”
“And now the Assyrians won’t be satisfied with Mitanni alone,” Ramesses mused.
Paser agreed. “They will move west to the cities that belong to Hatti. With the Assyrians at his throat, Hattusili can no longer afford to make an enemy of Egypt.”
Ramesses sat back in his chair, and the generals watched while he closed his eyes to think. “We will send Hattusili a treaty,” he said, haltingly. “A signed gesture of peace between Hatti and Egypt. The promise to send military aid to each other if the Assyrians attack. Hatti may be our rival, but Assyria has become the greater threat.”
“If Hattusili signs the treaty,” Paser added, “we could promise them aid in time of famine.”
“And in exchange for that,” Ramesses said with growing excitement, “they must give us access to their ports. And to Kadesh.”
But Vizier Nebamun’s look was wary. “No kingdom in the world has ever made such an agreement with their enemies.”
Ramesses sat straighter in his chair. “We can be the first.”
We stayed in the Audience Chamber until the early hours of morning, discussing the terms of this treaty, and by dawn only Paser remained with Ramesses and me. Once the temple’s morning rituals were finished, Woserit came to bring us fresh fruit.
“Tell me about the treaty,” she asked, but Ramesses was too tired to speak.
“It will give Hattusili the chance
at peace and to consolidate his throne,” I said. “But if he doesn’t want it, then he can risk a war with both Egypt and Assyria. And we still have the prince . . .”
Paser smiled wearily. “Pharaoh Ramesses is forging a new way of living among nations. If Hattusili won’t sign, then we will make the same offer to Assyria.”
“And we are offering more than just military aid,” I said. “If a criminal dares to run and hide in Hatti, they will have to send him back. And if a Hittite tries to do the same, we will send him to Hatti.”
Woserit saw my name at the bottom of the papyrus and glanced at me. My signature was now on official correspondence. In deed, if not in name, I had been made Queen of Egypt. I wanted to dance across the palace and shout the news from every window, but I knew enough to keep my silence. Unless Hattusili approved it, the treaty would remain a secret. But if he agreed, the entire court would know that I had signed it.
“You should get some sleep,” Woserit said with real pleasure in her voice. “This has been a long, though very rewarding night.”
“If the Hittites agree.” Ramesses sighed. He squinted against the early light of dawn, and we took her advice and retired to my room. As we settled into my bed, the linen sheets felt deliciously cool against the rising heat of morning. When I asked him if we should go instead to the Audience Chamber, he said, “Unless it’s a messenger with news from Hatti, there’s no one in Egypt I wish to see right now. Except you.” He reached out tenderly to caress my cheek, but a knock resounded throughout the chamber and he withdrew his hand.
“Nefertari?” A voice came through the door. I glanced at Ramesses, and the pounding came again. “Nefertari, open up!” someone shrieked. I recognized the voice as Iset’s.
“What is she doing?” Ramesses exclaimed.
“I don’t know.” I crossed the chamber and swung open the door. The rage in Iset’s eyes was so blinding, she didn’t seem to recognize Ramesses behind me.
“Is it true?” she demanded. At once, I knew that Rahotep must have told her. “Did Ramesses put your name on the message that’s being sent to Hatti?”
The Heretic Queen Page 32
