Ramses, Volume III

by Christian Jacq

  “He’s a fearless warrior, though, they say.”

  “Yes, but a commanding general needs to be a leader of men, resolving diverse and even contradictory viewpoints. That requires experience and patience.”

  “You’re right. I don’t recognize our nephew in your description.”

  “What could be better? He’ll come crashing out of the gate and offend his generals. The present infighting will only get worse, and soon they’ll be at his throat.”

  “But Muwattali declared war, and he thought enough of his son to hand him a leading role.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll say it again: Uri-Teshoop overestimates himself. The challenges he’ll have to meet are tough and complex. His dreams of war will shatter against the foot soldiers’ shields and be crushed beneath the wheels of chariots. But that’s not all . . .”

  “Don’t tease me, darling.”

  “Muwattali is a great emperor.”

  “He plans to exploit his son’s weaknesses?”

  Hattusili smiled. “The empire is both strong and fragile—strong in terms of its military muscle, fragile because we’re surrounded by envious neighbors, ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness. Conquering Egypt is a worthy ambition, but an ill-considered attack would lead to disaster. The vultures are out there, waiting to feed on our spoils.”

  “Can Muwattali restrain a hothead like your nephew?”

  “Uri-Teshoop doesn’t know about his father’s true intentions or his plans for carrying them out. The emperor has given him inside information, but not the key piece.”

  “But Muwattali told you everything?”

  “He did me that honor, Puduhepa. And the emperor also entrusted me with a mission: putting his plan into action while keeping Uri-Teshoop in the dark.”

  From the balcony of his quarters in the palace complex, Uri-Teshoop gazed at the new moon. There dwelt the secret of the future, his future. He spoke to her at length, confessing his desire to lead the Hittite army to victory, slaughtering anyone who stood in his way.

  The emperor’s son raised a loving cup toward the heavenly body. The water it contained would reflect her secrets. All Hittites practiced the art of divination, but appealing directly to the moon was a risk that few dared take.

  Her silence violated, the moon became a scimitar that could slash an attacker’s throat, hurling his body over the ramparts. Those who met with favor, however, were granted luck in battle.

  Uri-Teshoop prayed to her, the insolent, fickle queen of the night. For more than an hour, she was silent.

  Then the water rippled and began to bubble. The cup grew burning hot, but Uri-Teshoop held on.

  The water stopped boiling. On the flat surface a man’s face appeared, topped with the twin crowns of upper and lower Egypt.

  Ramses.

  So this was Uri-Teshoop’s destiny! He would kill Ramses and make Egypt a docile slave.

  THIRTY-TWO

  His goatee trimmed to perfection, clad in a heavy tunic, the Syrian merchant Raia made his way to Ahmeni’s office. The king’s private secretary saw him at once.

  “I hear you’ve been looking for me all over town,” Raia said uneasily.

  “Quite right. Serramanna was ordered to have you report to me, by force if necessary.”

  “By force? But why?”

  “Circumstances surrounding you have aroused grave suspicions.”

  The Syrian looked shaken. “Suspicions?”

  “Where have you been hiding?”

  “I haven’t been hiding! I was down at the docks, in my warehouse, arranging a special shipment. As soon as I got wind of this incredible rumor, I came running. I’m an honest trader, established in Egypt for years, with a clean record. Just ask my staff, my customers! My business is expanding and I’m about to invest in another barge. My foodstuffs are served in the finest homes and my imported vases grace the mansions of Thebes, Memphis, and Pi-Ramses. I even supply the palace!” Raia’s voice rose nervously throughout his recitation.

  “I’m not questioning your business practices,” said Ahmeni.

  “Then what am I accused of?”

  “Are you acquainted with a certain Lilia, a woman of easy virtue residing here in Pi-Ramses?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not a married man?”

  “My work doesn’t leave me time for a wife and family.”

  “You must have relationships.”

  “My private life is my own business.”

  “It’s in your interest to answer.”

  Raia hesitated. “I have women friends, here and there around the country . . . To be honest, I work so hard that when I have time off, I prefer to catch up on my sleep.”

  “Then you deny knowing this Lilia?”

  “I do.”

  “But you do acknowledge that you dispose of a warehouse in Pi-Ramses.”

  “Of course! I rent a large space on the waterfront, but I’ll soon outgrow it. That’s why I took another place in town. I’ll start to use it at the beginning of the month.”

  “Who’s your landlord?”

  “An Egyptian named Renouf, a business acquaintance of mine. A good man and an honest merchant who bought the place but decided not to use it. He offered me very good terms.”

  “For the moment, the building is vacant, then.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you go there often?”

  “I’ve only been once, with Renouf, to sign the lease.”

  “Lilia’s body was found in that warehouse, Raia.”

  The merchant seemed stunned by this revelation.

  “The poor girl was strangled,” Ahmeni continued, “because she was about to denounce the person who’d forced her to bear false witness.”

  Raia’s hands trembled. His lips went white. “A murder . . . a murder, here, in the capital! How dreadful . . . violence . . . I’m appalled.”

  “Where are you from, Raia?”

  “Syria, originally.”

  “The evidence has led us to believe that the man we’re seeking is Syrian.”

  “There are thousands of us in Egypt!”

  “You’re Syrian, and you hold the lease on the property where Lilia was murdered. A disturbing coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “Pure coincidence!”

  “This crime is linked to another extremely serious offense. That’s why the king asked me to expedite the investigation.”

  “I’m only a merchant, a simple merchant! There’s always resentment against a successful foreigner, I know. But everything I have, I’ve earned the hard way. I’ve never stolen from anyone!”

  “If he is the man we’re looking for,” thought Ahmeni, “this Raia is quite an actor.”

  “Look at this,” the scribe demanded, handing the Syrian a dated copy of the police report on the discovery of Lilia’s body.

  “Where were you on the day and night in question?”

  “Let me think. I travel so much that it’s hard to remember . . . yes . . . I must have been in Bubastis, restocking my shop there.”

  Bubastis, the charming home of the cat goddess Bastet, was some distance south of Pi-Ramses. With a fast boat and a strong current, however, it was only five or six hours from the capital.

  “Can anyone vouch for you?”

  “Yes, my manager and my regional representative.”

  “How long were you in Bubastis?”

  “Only that day. I left the next morning for Memphis.”

  “A perfect alibi, Raia.”

  “It’s not an alibi! It’s the truth.”

  “Give me the names of your men there.”

  Raia scribbled them on a scrap of papyrus.

  “I’ll check,” promised Ahmeni.

  “It will prove my innocence!”

  “I request that you remain in Pi-Ramses until further notice.”

  “Am I under arrest?” he asked shakily.

  “There may be
more questions for you to answer.”

  “But my business! There are vases I need to deliver personally . . .”

  “Your customers will wait.”

  “I may lose some of them. I always deliver on the day I promise.”

  “Circumstances beyond your control, you can tell them. Where are you staying?”

  “In a little place behind my warehouse on the waterfront. How long are you planning to keep me in suspense?”

  “Don’t worry. It will all be settled soon.”

  The third full cup of strong beer barely took the edge off Serramanna’s anger. He had been to Bubastis and back in record time.

  “I questioned Raia’s employees,” he told Ahmeni.

  “Do they confirm his alibi?”

  “Of course.”

  “Will they swear it in court?”

  “They’re Syrians, Ahmeni! The Judgment Hall of the Dead doesn’t faze them. They’ll lie through their teeth if the price is high enough! They couldn’t care less about the law of Ma’at. If you’d let me use my methods on them, though . . .”

  “You’re not a pirate anymore, and justice is Egypt’s most precious commodity. Torture is unthinkable.”

  “What about letting a criminal go free—a criminal and a spy?”

  The arrival of an orderly ended their sparring. Ahmeni and Serramanna were escorted into Ramses’ vast office.

  “What’s the latest report?” asked the king.

  “Serramanna is convinced that the Syrian merchant, Raia, is a spy and a murderer.”

  “What about you?”

  “I agree.”

  The Sard looked at Ahmeni with unspoken gratitude. Every trace of dissension between them had long since vanished.

  “Can you prove it?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” confessed Serramanna.

  “If we hold him for probable cause, Raia will demand a trial, and he’ll be acquitted,” said the king.

  “We know that,” sighed Ahmeni.

  “Let me take over, Your Majesty,” the giant Sard begged.

  “We’ve covered this subject before, Serramanna.”

  The bodyguard hung his head.

  “We’ve reached an impasse,” admitted Ahmeni. “In all probability, Raia is a member of a Hittite spy ring, perhaps even the head of it. The man is clever, slippery, and an excellent actor. He controls his reactions, knows when to break into tears and when to bluster. He’s quite convincing as an honest, hardworking merchant who lives only for his business. The fact remains that he travels the length of the country, from town to town, meeting a great many people. Could there be any better setup for espionage?”

  “Raia was sleeping with Lilia,” Serramanna asserted, “and he paid her to frame me. He thought she’d keep quiet; that was his mistake. She tried to blackmail him, and he killed her.”

  “According to your report,” Ramses noted, “the Syrian strangled the girl in the warehouse he rented. Why take such a chance?”

  “The property isn’t even in his name,” Ahmeni pointed out. “It was no easy task to trace the owner, who had nothing to do with the case, and then finger Raia.”

  “Raia was probably planning to kill his landlord to keep him from talking,” added Serramanna, “but we got to him first. Otherwise, the connection would never have come to light. In my opinion, Raia didn’t plan to murder Lilia. Meeting her in an out-of-the-way place, where no one knew him, was perfectly safe. He probably thought he could scare her into silence. But things turned sour. The girl asked too high a price, said she’d go to the authorities. Raia throttled her and ran before he could move the body. Fortunately, his Syrian subordinates could furnish an alibi.”

  “We’re on the brink of open conflict with the Hittites,” replied Ramses, “and it doesn’t help to have a spy ring operating freely within our borders. You make a convincing case, but the key element is finding out how Raia transmits his messages to the enemy.”

  “A good interrogation . . .” suggested Serramanna.

  “A spy will never talk.”

  “What does Your Majesty suggest?” Ahmeni asked finally.

  “Question him again, and release him. Try to convince him we’re dropping the investigation.”

  “He’ll never fall for it!”

  “Of course not,” the king acknowledged. “But if he feels we’re closing in on him, he’ll be forced to alert his contacts. I want to see how he goes about it.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  The end of the month of November was when seedlings began to poke through the soil. The new growth proclaimed the triumph of life over death and the promise of nourishment for the people of Egypt.

  Ramses helped Homer down from his litter. A laden table awaited them in a palm grove on the banks of the canal. Nearby, cattle crossed at a ford. The faint sun of the first days of winter warmed the poet’s venerable head.

  “I thought you might like a picnic,” the king explained.

  “Splendid,” said Homer. “The gods have showered blessings on your country.”

  “And Pharaoh provides the gods with places of worship.”

  “This land is a mystery, Your Majesty, and so are you. This peaceful countryside, the beautiful palm trees, the shimmering light, the exquisite food . . . there’s something supernatural about it. You Egyptians have created a miracle. You live in a magical world. But how much longer can it last?”

  “As long as the law of Ma’at is here to guide us.”

  “You forget the world beyond your borders, Ramses, the world that cares nothing for your law. Do you think Ma’at will stop the Hittite army?”

  “Righteousness will be our strongest defense.”

  “I’ve seen war with my own failing eyes: the cruelty, the fury, the frenzy that overtakes men who seemed sensible. War lurks in the human heart, waiting to spring out and break the bonds of civilization. Egypt will be no exception.”

  “It will, Homer. Our country is a miracle, you’re right, but a miracle we build on every day. I’ll turn back any invasion, no matter where it comes from.”

  The poet closed his eyes. “I’m no longer in exile, Your Majesty. I’ll never forget Greece and its own rough magic, but this is my home now. This is where I commune with the heavens—and I sense that soon they will ring with the clash of weapons.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “The Hittites are obsessed with conquest. They live to fight, like so many of my compatriots. Your last campaign won’t deter them.”

  “My army will be ready to fight.”

  “You’re like a wild beast, Your Majesty. A panther confronting a hunter never trembles but keeps a calm heart, even when it hears the hounds baying; even when wounded by a spear, the panther keeps fighting and attacks to live or die.”

  Nefertari read the astonishing missive Shaanar had just passed on to her. Hittite couriers had delivered it to southern Syria, and the State Department’s messengers had taken it from there.

  To my sister and dearest Queen of Egypt, Nefertari,

  I, Puduhepa, wife to Hattusili, brother of the emperor of the Hittites, send my friendly greetings. We are far apart, our lands and peoples are very different, but do not they aspire to the selfsame peace? If you and I encourage understanding between our peoples, would we not be doing a good deed? For my part, I will endeavor to do so. May I ask my esteemed sister to act likewise?

  The favor of your reply would be an honor. May the gods protect you.

  “What could this curious document mean?” the queen asked Ramses.

  “Well, it’s completely authentic. The two dried mud seals and the handwriting leave no doubt.”

  “Should I answer Puduhepa?”

  “She’s not a reigning queen, but since the death of Muwattali’s wife she’s considered the first lady of the land.”

  “Will her husband, Hattusili, be emperor?”

  “Muwattali seems to be leaning toward his son, Uri-Teshoop, who burns to fight against Egypt.”

  “Thi
s letter has no real meaning, then.”

  “It shows there’s another way of thinking, supported by the clergy and business interests, who can exert considerable pressure, according to Ahsha. They’re afraid that war will hurt them financially.”

  “Is their influence strong enough to keep us out of war?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “If Puduhepa is sincere, why shouldn’t I respond? There’s still a slim hope we may prevent thousands of deaths.”

  The Syrian merchant Raia toyed nervously with his beard.

  “We’ve verified your alibi,” declared Ahmeni.

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “You should be. Your staff backed up every detail.”

  “I told the truth. I have nothing to hide.”

  Ahmeni was fiddling with a brush. “I’m forced to admit that we may have been wrong about you.”

  “Finally, the voice of reason!”

  “You must concede that the circumstantial evidence was against you. Still, I hope you accept my apologies.”

  “Egyptian justice deserves its reputation,” said Raia.

  “May the gods preserve it.”

  “Am I free to go?”

  “Yes. You can resume your normal activities and travel as you wish.”

  “I’m cleared of all suspicion?”

  “You are, Raia.”

  “I appreciate your honesty and hope you soon find out who murdered that poor girl.”

  Supposedly checking invoices, Raia paced the docks between his warehouse and his boat.

  Ahmeni’s charade hadn’t fooled him for a moment. Why would the secretary let him off the hook with only a flimsy alibi from his two Syrian assistants? Because he obviously hoped Raia would resume his covert activities and lead Serramanna straight to the spy ring.

  The more he thought, the more Raia saw how serious his situation had become. No matter what he did, his intelligence network seemed doomed. Ahmeni would soon determine that the vast majority of the Syrian’s associates also worked for the Hittites and formed a fearsomely efficient underground army. A wave of arrests would destroy it.

  He could play for time and go about his business as usual, but not for long.