Ramses, Volume III

by Christian Jacq

  The king’s icy calm helped restore the men to order. Falling back on their training, the men formed their ranks.

  “We need to tend to the wounded,” interjected Setau.

  “Impossible.The enemy sharpshooters would cut you down.”

  “I told you the wind was wrong.”

  “I can’t understand it,” said Ahsha. “None of my agents gave any indication that the rebels had captured this fort.”

  “They must have taken it from inside,” offered Setau.

  “Even so, the commander would have had time to send an emergency message by carrier pigeon. They always have some on hand, already drawn up.”

  “The facts are simple and disastrous,” concluded Ramses. “The commander was killed, his garrison wiped out, and then the insurgents sent us fake messages. If I’d sent my divisions to the different forts instead of coming here first, we would have suffered heavy casualties. The revolt is much more widespread than we thought. Only Hittite commandos could have orchestrated an effort like this.”

  “Do you think they’re still in the area?”

  “Whether they are or not, we’d better get back to our positions as fast as we can.”

  “This fortress can’t withstand our attack for long,” Ahsha calculated. “Why not give them a chance to surrender? If there are Hittites inside, we’ll make them talk.”

  “Take a squadron in there, Ahsha, and negotiate with them yourself.”

  “I’ll go with him,” said Setau.

  “Let him show off his diplomatic talents. At least he can bring back the wounded while you get the infirmary set up, Setau.”

  Neither of Ramses’ friends questioned his orders. Even the sharp-tongued snake charmer bowed to Pharaoh’s authority.

  Five chariots, under Ahsha’s command, made their way toward the fort. At the diplomat’s side, a charioteer held a lance with a white flag tied to its tip.

  The chariots never got close. As soon as they were within firing range, the marksmen began to shoot again. The lead charioteer was hit twice in the throat, while another arrow grazed Ahsha’s left arm, leaving a bloody gash.

  “Turn around!” he shouted.

  “Don’t move,” ordered Setau. “Or that honey compress will slide right off.”

  “You’re not the one who feels the sting.”

  “Toughen up, Ahsha!”

  “I don’t find war wounds glamorous, and I prefer Lotus’s bedside manner.”

  “Yes, but I get all the tough cases. Since I used my best honey, you ought to mend. The cut will heal quickly, without infection.”

  “What savages. I couldn’t even get a look at their defenses.”

  “Don’t bother trying to cut any deals for the insurgents when the time comes. Ramses doesn’t take kindly to people who try to mow down his friends, even the ones who’ve strayed into the Foreign Service.”

  Ahsha winced in pain.

  “At least this is a good excuse for staying on the sidelines,” Setau commented.

  “Sounds like you wish the arrow had hit its mark.”

  “Stop talking nonsense and try to rest. If we do get our hands on any Hittites, we’ll need to use you as a translator.”

  Setau left the spacious tent that served as the field hospital. Ahsha would be the first patient to stay there. The snake charmer hurried off to deliver some bad news to Ramses.

  With his lion in tow, Ramses had ridden the perimeter of the fortress, studying the massive brick structure dominating the plain. What had once been a symbol of peace and security was now a deadly threat that must be eliminated.

  From atop the ramparts, Canaanite lookouts observed the Pharaoh, refraining from shouts or jeers.

  One hope remained: that the Egyptian army might not try to recapture the fort, instead dividing up to march through the province and assess the situation. If so, the ambushes the rebels had planned with their Hittite mentors might still be able to force a retreat.

  Setau, convinced he understood the enemy strategy, wondered if it might not be better to have a look around first, rather than attacking a well-prepared fortress and suffering heavy losses.

  The generals considered the same angles; the consensus was that a small contingent should be left to hold the main fort under siege, while the rest of the army marched north to reconnoiter.

  When they approached Ramses, he was lost in thought, stroking his lion’s noble mane. The connection between man and beast was so direct, so powerful, that they felt uneasy intruding.

  The senior general, who had served in Syria under Seti, finally dared to break the silence.

  “Your Majesty . . . may I have a word with you?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “My fellow officers and I have had lengthy discussions. We believe that it would be wise to gauge how widespread this revolt is. Due to the false information we received, our view of the situation is unclear.”

  “And how do you propose to rectify it?”

  “By launching a reconnaissance mission before we undertake a full-scale attack on this fortress.”

  “An interesting viewpoint.”

  The old general was relieved. Perhaps Ramses would listen to the voice of moderation after all.

  “Shall we convene to hear Your Majesty’s directives?”

  “No need,” replied the king. “My directives can be summed up in a few words: prepare to attack this fort at once.”

  FIFTEEN

  Ramses fired the first arrow. He alone had the strength to shoot with the acacia bow he used. The bowstring was made from a bull’s tendon, demanding a storm god’s power to pull it back.

  When the Canaanite lookouts saw the King of Egypt take a shooting stance, nearly a thousand paces from the fortress, they smiled. It was only a symbolic gesture to give his troops courage, they thought.

  The reed arrow, with its bronze-covered hardwood tip and notched tail, arched through the bright sky and dove into the heart of the nearest lookout. With a horror-stricken glance at the blood spurting out of him, he fell headfirst from the battlements. The next man felt a thud on the head, staggered, and followed suit. The third managed to call for help, but as he turned an arrow pierced his back. He landed in the courtyard. Meanwhile, a regiment of Egyptian archers moved in.

  The rebels tried to spread out along the battlements, but their attackers had them outnumbered. With deadly accuracy, they felled half the sentries with their first salvo. Their replacements suffered the same fate. As soon as the enemy numbers were no longer sufficient to defend the fort, Ramses ordered the sappers to bring up their ladders. Fighter, the gigantic lion, surveyed the scene calmly.

  Their ladders positioned against the walls, the soldiers began to climb. The men on the ramparts, realizing the Egyptians would give them no quarter, fought with desperate energy. Pulling stones from the walls, they pelted their assailants, some of whom broke bones as they hit the ground. Nevertheless, the Pharaoh’s archers made short work of the rebels.

  Hundreds of foot soldiers stormed the walls and took control of the wall walk. The archers followed, firing down at the enemy gathered in the courtyard below.

  Setau and his medics removed the wounded on stretchers, carrying them to the Egyptian camp. Lotus joined the edges of clean wounds, crisscrossing them with adhesive bandages. Occasionally she had recourse to suturing. Fresh meat was used to stop bleeding; after a few hours, the site was dressed with an antibiotic mixture of honey, astringent herbs, and moldy bread. Setau dipped into his stock of pharmaceuticals, which included extracts, pellets of anesthetic, lozenges, salves, and potions. He relieved pain, put the seriously wounded to sleep and made them as comfortable as possible in the field hospital. Those who seemed fit enough to travel would be sent home to Egypt, along with the dead, not one of whom would be buried on foreign soil. Their families, if they had any, would receive a pension for life.

  Inside the fortress, the Canaanites offered feeble resistance. Outnumbered ten to one, there was little they could do. To avoid
what he knew would be a merciless interrogation, their chief slit his throat with his own dagger.

  The gates were opened. Pharaoh entered the recaptured fortress.

  “Burn the corpses,” he ordered, “and purify the site.”

  The soldiers sprinkled the walls with natron, a substance that dried and purified any surface, and fumigated the living quarters, storerooms, and weapons rooms. Sweet scents filled the victors’ nostrils.

  By the time dinner was served in the commander’s private dining room, every trace of bloodshed had been removed.

  The generals applauded Ramses’ decisiveness and cheered the outcome of his initiative. Setau, still tending the wounded, was missing from the party. Ahsha seemed preoccupied.

  “Aren’t you happy with our victory?” the king inquired.

  “Yes, but how many more battles like this one will there be?”

  “We’ll take the forts back one by one, and Canaan will be pacified. Since we won’t be caught by surprise again, our losses shouldn’t be so heavy.”

  “Fifty dead and more than a hundred wounded . . .”

  “Only because they sprung a trap on us. There was no way we could have known.”

  “I should have seen it coming,” Ahsha admitted. “The Hittites love intrigue as much as bloodletting.”

  “Any Hittites among the enemy dead?”

  “None.”

  “Their raiders have headed home, it seems.”

  “Leaving a trail of surprises behind them, I’m sure.”

  “We’ll take them one at a time. Get some rest, Ahsha. We’re marching out tomorrow.”

  Ramses left an adequate garrison in place, restocking the fort as well. Several messengers were already on the way to Pi-Ramses with orders for Ahmeni to dispatch convoys to the main fort.

  The king led his army north, heading a detachment of a hundred chariots.

  Ten times, the same scenario unfolded. A thousand paces from the rebel stronghold, Ramses sowed panic by picking off the archers posted on the ramparts. Covered by a constant stream of Egyptian arrows that kept the Canaanites from returning fire, the soldiers raised their ladders, climbed with their shields in front of them, and took control of the wall walk. No attempt was ever made to enter a fortress through its main gates.

  In less than a month, Ramses was once again the master of Canaan. Since the insurgents had massacred every inhabitant of the forts, including women and children, they knew there was no point in surrendering and throwing themselves on the king’s mercy. Pharaoh’s reputation had the rebel leaders terrified from the moment they learned of his initial victory. By the time the army reached the northernmost fortress, recapturing it was a mere formality.

  Galilee, the valley north of Jordan, and the trade routes were restored to Egyptian control. Everyone along the way cheered the Pharaoh, swearing eternal allegiance to him.

  Yet not one Hittite had been captured.

  The governor of Gaza, the capital of Canaan, laid on a splendid banquet for the Egyptian high command. He and his people had bent over backward to supply Pharaoh’s army, feed and stable the horses and donkeys. The brief campaign to restore order was now ending on a note of friendship and celebration.

  The governor had made a speech denouncing the Hittites in the strongest terms. These Asian barbarians, he said, had made an unsuccessful attempt to shatter the indestructible ties between his country and Egypt. The gods had sent Pharaoh to the rescue, knowing that the monarch would never abandon his faithful allies. They mourned the tragic loss of Egyptian soldiers and civilians. But Ramses had fulfilled the law of Ma’at, restoring order to Canaan.

  “This hypocrite is making me lose my appetite,” the king said to Ahsha.

  “You can’t change human nature.”

  “No, but I can change governors.”

  “Replace this one with another? You could, of course. But as soon as the next one finds an advantage in betraying you, he’ll go right ahead. At least we know what manner of man this governor is—corrupt, greedy, a liar. Controlling him poses no problems.”

  “You’re forgetting that he turned his back while Hittite raiders took over our forts.”

  “As I said, any governor in his position would do the same.”

  “So you’re advising me to stick with the known evil?”

  “Tell him he’s out if he makes one more false move. That ought to keep him in line for a few months.”

  “Are you this cynical about everyone?”

  “As a diplomat, I deal with reality. Men will do anything to keep what power they have or grab some more. If I allowed myself to trust politicians, I wouldn’t last long.”

  “You haven’t answered my question. Is there anyone you respect?”

  “I admire you, Ramses, which is an exception for me. But aren’t you also a man of power?”

  “I’m the servant of Ma’at and of my people.”

  “What if one day you forgot that?”

  “That would be the day my magic deserted me—the beginning of the end.”

  “May the gods protect you from any such eventuality.”

  “Enough, Ahsha. Tell me what intelligence you’ve gathered.”

  “The local merchants were willing to talk, as were a few officials, for a consideration. They confirmed that Hittite commandos stirred up the revolt and told the rebels how to take over the forts.”

  “So how did they do it?”

  “They arranged deliveries of local produce, except that the wagons were really carrying armed rebels. All the forts were attacked at the same time. Women and children were taken hostage, forcing the commanders to surrender—a fatal error, as we now know.

  “The Hittites assured their allies that Egypt’s response would be too little, too late. The rebels thought they had nothing to fear if they wiped out our garrisons, even though they were on excellent terms with the natives.”

  Ramses was satisfied that his response had been appropriate. The craven rebels deserved their fate.

  “Any word of Moses?”

  “No serious leads.”

  The commanders met in the royal tent. Ramses presided from his gilded folding throne, with the Nubian lion dozing at his feet.

  The monarch asked Ahsha and each of the officers to speak. The senior general was the last to take the floor.

  “The army’s morale is high. Supplies and equipment are excellent. Your Majesty has won a resounding victory which will have its place in the royal annals.”

  “That may be going too far.”

  “Your Majesty, we are proud to have taken part in these battles, and—”

  “Battles? Save that word for later. We can use it when we encounter some real resistance.”

  “Pi-Ramses is ready to give you a hero’s welcome.”

  “Pi-Ramses will wait.”

  “We’ve regained control of Palestine and put down the rebellion in Canaan. Isn’t it time to go home?”

  “Our most difficult challenge lies ahead: retaking the province of Amurru.”

  “The Hittites may be amassing their troops in the region.”

  “Do I sense that you’re afraid of fighting, General?”

  “We need time to develop our strategy, Your Majesty.”

  “We already have one. We’re heading straight for the north.”

  SIXTEEN

  Wearing a short wig tied in place around her forehead—the ends of the ribbon dangling to her shoulders—and a form-fitting tunic with a red sash, Nefertari purified her hands with water from the sacred lake. She then entered the inner sanctum of the temple of Amon, the naos, to nourish the divine presence with delectable offerings from the evening meal. In her role as the wife of the god, she was acting as the Daughter of Light, issuing forth from the creative source of the universe.

  The queen closed the doors of the sanctuary behind her, sealed them, went out of the temple, and followed the priests toward the House of Life at Pi-Ramses. As the incarnation of the distant goddess, mother of life and d
eath, she would attempt to repel the forces of evil. If the sun’s eye became as her own, she would be able to perpetuate life and continue the eternal cycles of nature. The tranquil flow of days depended on her ability to counter the forces of destruction.

  A priest handed a bow to the queen. A priestess held out four arrows.

  Nefertari pulled on the bow, aiming the first arrow east, the second north, the third south, and the fourth to the west. Ramses’ invisible enemies were once again held at bay.

  Tuya’s chamberlain was waiting for Nefertari.

  “The Queen Mother wishes to see you as soon as possible, Your Majesty.” A litter was waiting to transport the Great Royal Wife.

  Slender in her long, tucked linen tunic and sash with striped panels, adorned with gold bracelets and six strands of lapis lazuli around her neck, Tuya was supremely elegant.

  “Don’t fret, Nefertari. A messenger has just arrived with wonderful news from Canaan. Ramses has the province back in hand, and order has been restored.”

  “When is he coming back?”

  “He doesn’t say.”

  “Meaning they’re heading farther north.”

  “Probably.”

  “Is that what you’d do?”

  “Absolutely,” replied Tuya.

  “North of Canaan lies the province of Amurru, the buffer zone between our territory and the Hittite sphere of influence.”

  “Seti hoped that establishing it would decrease the possibility of conflict.”

  “If the Hittites have taken over . . .”

  “It will mean war, Nefertari.”

  “I shot the four arrows this evening.”

  “Then what do have we to fear?”

  Shaanar detested Ahmeni. To be forced to meet with the pretentious pipsqueak of a scribe every morning was torture, but it was his only means of keeping informed about Ramses’ northern campaign. “Once I’m in charge,” Shaanar reassured himself, “Ahmeni will be sent to some faraway military base and forced to haul manure until his health breaks.”