Ramses, Volume III

by Christian Jacq

  When Ramses stepped down from his chariot, a hush fell over the crowd.

  The king walked slowly toward the queen, stopping ten paces in front of her. Letting go of his bow and sword, he placed his right hand over his heart, fist tight.

  “Who are you,” came the ritual question, “who dare to contemplate Ma’at?”

  “I am the Son of Light, heir to the testament of the gods. It is I who vouchsafe justice and level the inequities between the weak and the strong. It is I who shield Egypt from harm, from within as well from without.”

  “Have you observed the law of Ma’at while journeying far from the land she rules?”

  “I have, and I lay my acts before her, that she may judge me. Thus may my country be solidly grounded in truth.”

  “Let the goddess acknowledge your rectitude.”

  Nefertari raised the golden cubit, glinting in the sun.

  A long cheer went up from the crowd. Even Shaanar, captivated, could not help murmuring his brother’s name.

  In the open forecourt of the temple of Amon, only the notables of Pi-Ramses were admitted, anxious for the ceremony to begin. Medals would be awarded, the Gold of Valor. Whom would Pharaoh decorate, what promotions would he grant? Several names were circulating. A few bets had even been placed.

  When the king and queen were seen in the Window of Appearance, the assembled dignitaries held their breath. The generals occupied the front row, eyeing one another suspiciously.

  Two fan bearers were on hand to accompany the chosen few to the Window of Appearance. For once, no one knew what to expect. Even the court insiders were out of the loop.

  “The first to be honored is the bravest member of my armed forces,” declared Ramses. “He was always ready to risk his life for his pharaoh’s. Step forward, Fighter.”

  The crowd parted in terror, letting the lion through. He actually seemed to enjoy having all eyes on him as he loped toward the Window. Ramses leaned forward, patted the beast’s great head, and placed a thin gold chain around his neck, establishing the lion as a high-ranking court personality. Sphinx-like, Fighter lay down.

  The king whispered two more names in the fan bearers’ ears. Walking gingerly around the lion, they marched past the row of generals, then the ranking officers, then the scribes, and asked Setau and Lotus to follow them. The snake charmer balked, but his wife took him by the hand.

  The glowing Nubian beauty turned every head, while Setau, in his working attire of an antelope-skin overall, made a less favorable impression.

  “I now honor those who cared for the wounded and saved countless lives,” said Ramses. “Thanks to the efforts of these two, brave men survived their suffering and returned home alive.”

  Bending forward once again, the king placed several golden bracelets around his friends’ wrists. Lotus was thrilled, while her husband muttered protests.

  “I entrust the directorship of the palace laboratory to Setau and Lotus,” added Ramses. “Their mission will be to develop remedies from snake venom and provide for their nationwide distribution.”

  “I’d rather keep my place in the desert,” grumbled the snake charmer.

  “Are you sorry you’ll see us more often?” inquired Nefertari.

  The queen’s smile melted his defenses. “Your Majesty . . .”

  “Your presence at the palace, Setau, will be an honor for the court.”

  Setau flushed in embarrassment. “As Your Majesty wishes.”

  The generals, somewhat shocked, carefully refrained from critical remarks. They had all had occasion to consult Setau or his wife for help with poor digestion, labored breathing, or some other minor problem. The pair had fulfilled their duties correctly during the campaign. And although the ranking officers viewed their reward as excessive, they had to admit it was not undeserved.

  It remained to be seen which of the generals would be singled out for the post of commander-in-chief of the Egyptian army, answering directly to Ramses. The stakes were high, for the choice of appointee would indicate the king’s political intentions. Selecting the senior general would be a sign of passivity and retreat, while naming the head of the cavalry would mean war was still brewing.

  The two fan bearers now flanked Ahsha. Well bred, well dressed, and supremely at ease, the young diplomat looked respectfully up at the royal couple.

  “I honor you, my noble and faithful friend,” declared Ramses, “because your advice has been invaluable. You, too, were always prepared to face danger. You convinced me to alter my plans when the situation required. Our country is once again at peace, but the peace remains tenuous. We surprised the rebels with the swiftness of our response, but we have yet to deal with the Hittites, the real instigators. Yes, we have reorganized the garrisons of our fortresses in Canaan and left troops in the province of Amurru, most vulnerable to enemy reprisals. We still must coordinate defense efforts in our protectorates to forestall any future sedition. I entrust this mission to Ahsha. Henceforth, Egypt’s security is largely in his hands.”

  Ahsha bowed. Ramses draped three golden collars around his neck. The young diplomat had achieved the status of elder statesman.

  The generals were unanimously bitter. An inexperienced bureaucrat had no business taking on such a difficult assignment. The king was making a grave mistake. His lack of faith in the military establishment was unpardonable.

  Shaanar would be losing his right-hand man at the Finance Ministry, but he would gain a precious ally with broad powers. Naming his friend to this post would be Ramses’ undoing. As far as Shaanar was concerned, the high point of the ceremony was the knowing look he exchanged with Ahsha.

  Ramses had a promise to keep. He left the temple, taking Watcher and Fighter along in his chariot. The old playmates were delighted to be back together.

  Homer seemed rejuvenated. In the shade of his lemon tree, he was pitting dates, as Hector, his meat-loving black and white cat, looked on disdainfully.

  “Sorry I didn’t make it to the ceremony, Your Majesty. My old legs won’t hold me up for long anymore. Glad to find you looking so healthy, though.”

  “I came to find that flask of date beer with my name on it.”

  In the hush of evening, the two men sipped Homer’s delectable brew.

  “You don’t know what a rare pleasure this is for me, Homer—believing for a moment that I’m an ordinary man, enjoying a quiet drink without a care in the world. How is your Iliad coming?”

  “Like my memory, it’s strewn with slaughter, corpses, lost friendships, and bickering gods. The lives of men are shaped by human folly.”

  “The war my people feared has not broken out after all. Our protectorates are once again under our wing, and I hope to hammer a permanent wedge between us and the Hittites.”

  “Wise words from a ruler as young and impetuous as you! Could you possibly combine the political skills of a Priam with the valor of an Achilles?”

  “I’m convinced that the Hittites are sick over my victory. This peace is only a truce. Tomorrow, the fate of the world will be played out at Kadesh.”

  “How can such a fine evening contain the promise of such a tomorrow? The gods are cruel.”

  “Will you be my guest at the banquet tonight?”

  “As long as you get me home early. At my age, sleep is the best medicine.”

  “Have you ever dreamed there was no more war?”

  “My aim in writing the Iliad is to depict war in its true colors, to show how repulsive man’s destructive urges really are. But will generals listen to the voice of a poet?”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Tuya’s huge, almond-shaped eyes, stern and piercing, softened at the sight of Ramses. Proud and striking in her perfectly cut linen gown, belted with a striped sash reaching almost to her ankles, she took a long look at the Pharaoh.

  “Not a scratch on you, really?”

  “Do you think I’d be able to hide it from you if I was wounded? You look wonderful, Mother.”

  “Even the best ma
keup artists can’t hide the wrinkles on my forehead and neck anymore.”

  “You still seem younger than your years.”

  “Seti’s strength is still with me, perhaps. But my youth is only a memory, a foreign land with me as its sole inhabitant. Why dwell on the past when tonight is a joyful occasion? I’ll take my place at your banquet, you can be sure.”

  The king held his mother in his arms. “You’re the soul of Egypt.”

  “No, Ramses, I’m only its conscience, the reflection of a past you must honor. Egypt’s soul is you and Nefertari. Have you made a lasting peace, my son?”

  “Peace, yes; lasting, no. I reasserted our authority over the provinces, including Amurru, but the Hittite backlash promises to be violent.”

  “You considered attacking Kadesh, did you not?”

  “Yes, but Ahsha talked me out of it.”

  “He was right. It was one war your father decided not to fight, knowing how heavy our losses would be.”

  “But haven’t times changed? Kadesh is a threat we can’t tolerate much longer.”

  “Our guests are waiting, Ramses.”

  Not one false note marred the sumptuous banquet. Ramses, Nefertari, and Tuya presided, while Romay scurried from the banquet hall to the kitchens, the kitchens to the banquet hall, checking each dish, tasting each sauce, and taking a swig of every wine.

  Ahsha, Setau, and Lotus were at the head table. The young diplomat’s brilliant conversation had won over two crusty generals. Lotus collected compliments, while Setau concentrated on the alabaster plate continually refilled with tasty dishes.The aristocracy and the fighting class shared an evening of relaxation, safe from storms brewing on the horizon.

  Finally, Ramses and Nefertari were alone in their bedchamber, a vast palace room filled with the scent of a dozen bouquets. The fragrance of jasmine and galingale dominated.

  “Is this what it means to be king, having to steal a few hours with the woman you love?”

  “You were away so long—too long.”

  They lay down on the huge bed, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, savoring the pleasure of being together again.

  “It’s strange,” she said. “It was torture having you gone from me, but I thought your thoughts. Each day when I went to celebrate the morning rites, your image came out of the wall and your hand guided me.”

  “During the worst moments of this campaign, your face never left me. I felt you around me, like the wind in the wings of Isis when she brings Osiris back to life.”

  “Magic brought us together, and nothing should be able to keep us apart.”

  “Do you have any doubts?”

  “Sometimes I feel a cold shadow . . . it comes close, recedes, comes back again, and fades.”

  “If there is such a shadow, I’ll destroy it. For now, let me look in your eyes, at that sweet light burning for me.”

  Ramses shifted onto his side and admired Nefertari’s perfect body. He undid her hair, slipped the straps of her gown off her shoulders, and undressed her slowly, so slowly that she shivered.

  “Are you cold, my darling?”

  “You’re still too far from me.”

  He turned her and melded his form with hers, merging their desire.

  At six o’clock in the morning, after showering and rinsing his mouth with natron, Ahmeni headed for his office and ordered a breakfast of barley porridge, yogurt, farmer’s cheese, and figs. Ramses’ secretary ate quickly, his eyes glued to a scroll. The sound of leather sandals on the tile floor startled him. His staff was instructed not to arrive so early. Ahmeni wiped his mouth and prepared to investigate.

  “Ramses!”

  “Why weren’t you at the banquet last night?”

  “Just look! I’ve been swamped. My files seem to be reproducing in captivity. And then I don’t much care for society, as you know. I planned to ask for an audience with you this morning to fill you in on the interim measures I’ve taken.”

  “I’m sure they’re excellent.”

  A smile flickered across Ahmeni’s serious face. Ramses’ trust was what he treasured most in the world.

  “Tell me . . . why are you here so early?”

  “Because of Serramanna.”

  “That was the first thing I intended to discuss with you.”

  “We missed him in the field. You were the one who first accused him of treason, weren’t you?”

  “The evidence seemed indisputable, but . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve reopened the investigation.”

  “Why?”

  “I have the feeling I was manipulated. And the evidence against Serramanna looks less and less solid. The girlfriend who accused him, a strumpet by the name of Lilia, was murdered recently. As for his alleged correspondence with the Hittites, I’ve been itching to have Ahsha take a look at it.”

  “Then why don’t we go wake him up?”

  Ahsha’s suspicions regarding Ahmeni had been laid to rest—one satisfaction that the king planned on keeping to himself.

  Cool milk sweetened with honey awakened Ahsha, who packed his bedmate off to enjoy the ministrations of his masseur and hairdresser.

  “If it wasn’t Your Majesty here in person,” confessed the diplomat, “I wouldn’t have the courage to open my eyes.”

  “Open your ears, too,” urged Ramses.

  “Don’t you and your secretary ever sleep?”

  “Wouldn’t you get up early to save a man rotting in jail for a crime he may not have committed?” countered Ahmeni.

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Serramanna.”

  “But weren’t you the one—”

  “Take a look at these tablets, please.”

  Ahsha rubbed his eyes and read the messages Serramanna had supposedly written to his Hittite contact, promising to keep his elite commandos away from the enemy if ever they met in battle.

  “Is this a joke?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because all the luminaries at the Hittite court are sticklers for procedure, even in secret correspondence. There would have to be an exchange of formalities before letters like these could reach Hattusa. Serramanna would have no idea how to go about it.”

  “So someone must have imitated his handwriting.”

  “It wouldn’t be difficult; he’s hardly a scribe like you. And I’m convinced that these letters were never even sent.”

  Ramses took a turn examining the tablets.

  “Isn’t one clue obvious?”

  Ahsha and Ahmeni stared at the evidence.

  “For graduates of the royal academy, you aren’t especially observant.”

  “It’s just that it’s so early,” Ahsha said lamely. “But I do see what you mean. Whoever wrote this must be a Syrian. Fluent in Egyptian, of course, but the phrasing here”—he pointed—“and here is typically Syrian.”

  “I agree,” said Ahmeni. “I’m sure it’s the same man who paid Lilia to make her accusations. He was afraid she might talk and decided he’d have to get rid of her.”

  “What kind of man would kill a woman?” asked Ahsha in disgust.

  “There are hundreds of Syrians in Egypt,” Ramses pointed out.

  “Let’s hope he’s made a mistake, one simple little mistake,” said Ahmeni. “I’m investigating, and if there’s a lead, I’ll find it.”

  “This criminal may be more than a murderer,” suggested Ramses.

  “What do you mean?” asked Ahsha.

  “A Syrian with links to the Hittites . . . does this mean a spy network is operating within our borders?”

  “Nothing demonstrates a direct link between the Hittites and whoever tried to frame Serramanna.”

  Ahmeni lit into Ahsha. “You’re only saying that because your pride is wounded. You’re the head of our intelligence services and you’ve just learned something you’d rather not have to admit.”

  “Today isn’t getting off to a good start,” said the diplomat, “and the next few days
are bound to be crucial.”

  “Find this Syrian as fast as you can,” ordered Ramses.

  In his cell, Serramanna followed his personal drill, loudly maintaining his innocence and pounding on the wall with his fists. When he was brought to trial, he’d bash in the heads of his accusers, whoever they might be. His rage so terrified the jailers that they kept clear of him, handing food through the thick wooden bars of his cell.

  When the cell door finally swung open, the giant’s first impulse was to charge the intruder.

  “Your Majesty!”

  “A few months behind bars haven’t done you much harm, Serramanna.”

  “I never betrayed your trust!”

  “It was all a mistake, and I’ve come to free you.”

  “I’m really going to get out of this cage?”

  “Do you doubt the word of your king?”

  “You still . . . trust me?”

  “You’re the head of my bodyguard.”

  “Then, Your Majesty, I’ll tell you everything. All I’ve learned, all I suspect, and all the reasons that someone needed to have me locked up.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  As Ramses, Ahmeni, and Ahsha looked on, Serramanna wolfed down his meal. Comfortably seated in the palace dining room, he worked his way through pigeon pie, grilled beef, beans simmered with goose fat, cucumbers in sour cream, watermelon, and goat cheese. He ate steadily, barely pausing to gulp down the strong red wine he drank straight.

  Full at last, he glared at Ahmeni. “Why did you throw me in jail, scribe?”

  “My deepest apologies. Not only was I deceived, I also made the mistake of acting in haste, because of the army’s imminent departure. My only intention was to protect the king.”

  “Apologies . . . wait until you’re locked up, and you’ll see what they count for. Tell me, what’s happened to Lilia?”

  “Dead,” replied Ahmeni. “Murdered.”

  “Can’t say I’m sorry. Who paid her to put me out of commission?”

  “We don’t know, but we plan to find out.”