Ramses, Volume III

by Christian Jacq

  “The choice of terrain is decisive,” argued the general in charge of the division of Set.

  “Fighting in forests is hardly our strong point; a flat, open area would better suit our purposes. Let’s cross the Orontes before the forest of Labwi.”

  “Impossible, there’s no ford anywhere around.”

  “Then let’s torch the forest!”

  “For one thing, the winds could turn against us. For another, it would be slow going over burnt stumps and fallen trees.”

  “We should have followed the coast road,” the general of the Ra division complained, not hesitating to contradict his own plan, “and attacked Kadesh from the north.”

  “Hopeless,” commented the Ptah general. “With all due respect to Your Majesty, the reserve troops coming up from Amurru will be unable to rendezvous with us. The Hittites are on their guard, and they’ll have a full contingent posted at the outlet of the coast road to repel a potential attack from that quarter. The strategy we proposed really is the best course of action.”

  “Of course it is,” the Set general said ironically, “but there’s one small problem: we can’t advance! I suggest we send a thousand foot soldiers into the forest of Labwi and see how the Hittites react.”

  “What will we learn from a thousand casualties?”

  The Set general was deflated.

  “Shall we retreat before we’ve met the enemy? The Hittites will laugh at us, and Your Majesty’s prestige will be seriously compromised.”

  “How glorious will I look if I lead my army to slaughter? I’m out to save Egypt, not my own reputation.”

  “What will you decide, Your Majesty?”

  Setau emerged from his watchful silence. “As a snake charmer, I prefer to work alone or with my wife to help me. If I headed out with a hundred soldiers, I’d never see a single cobra.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” demanded the Set division general.

  “Let’s send a small band of soldiers into the forest,” proposed Setau. “If they get through, they can size up the enemy forces. Then we’ll know what to do next.”

  Setau volunteered to head a commando force of a dozen young, highly trained soldiers, armed with slingshots, bows, and daggers. All of them knew how to move without making noise.

  As soon as they entered the forest of Labwi, murky even in the brightest daylight, they scattered, often scanning the treetops for archers who might be lurking there.

  Acutely aware of his surroundings, Setau sensed no hostile presence. He exited the forest first and crouched in the thick grass, soon joined by his companions, surprised at how uneventful their hike had been.

  The first ford was in sight. No Hittite soldier was in the vicinity.

  In the distance stood the fortress of Kadesh, built on a rise. The flats in front of it were deserted. The Egyptians looked at each other, gaping in amazement.

  They watched for an hour or more, still disbelieving, before they could face the fact that the Hittite army was nowhere near Kadesh.

  “Over there,” said Setau, pointing toward three oak trees by the ford. “Something’s moving.”

  The commandos moved quickly to surround the trees. One of the men stayed behind. If this turned out to be an ambush, he would run back to warn Ramses. But the operation went off without a hitch, netting the Egyptians two prisoners who looked to be Bedouin chieftains.

  FIFTY-TWO

  The two prisoners were terrified.

  One was tall and thin, the other of average height, bald and bearded. Neither of them dared raise their eyes to the Pharaoh of Egypt.

  “Your names?”

  “I’m Amos,” said the bald man. “My friend is called Keni.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Bedouin chiefs.”

  “How do you explain your presence in these parts?”

  “We’re supposed to be meeting with a Hittite dignitary.”

  “Why is that?”

  Amos bit his lip. Keni hung his head even lower.

  “Answer!” demanded Ramses.

  “The Hittites want us in league with them against Egypt, attacking caravans.”

  “And you’ve accepted, I suppose.”

  “No, we only wanted to discuss it.”

  “What was the outcome of your negotiations?”

  “There were no negotiations, Your Majesty, since there aren’t any Hittite dignitaries around. Inside the fortress, there’s nothing but Syrians.”

  “Where is the Hittite army?”

  “They pulled out of Kadesh more than two weeks ago. According to the fortress commander, they were heading for Aleppo, several days north of here, for maneuvers with their hundreds of brand-new chariots. Keni and I were reluctant to make the journey.”

  “Weren’t the Hittites expecting us here in Kadesh?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty . . . but nomads like us had alerted them to the size of your forces. They hadn’t been counting on such overwhelming numbers, and decided they’d rather draw you to more open terrain.”

  “You and your fellow Bedouins warned them that we were coming?”

  “We beg your forgiveness, Majesty! We believed the stories about Hatti being so superior. And you know the Hittites don’t offer us many alternatives. Either we cooperate or they slaughter us.”

  “How many men are still in the fortress?”

  “A good thousand Syrians, convinced that Kadesh is impregnable.”

  The war council was reconvened. The generals regarded Setau with new respect. He deserved a medal.

  “The Hittite army has retreated,” the Ra commander proudly declared. “Can we call that a victory, Your Majesty?”

  “Not much of one. The obvious question is whether we should lay siege to the fortress.”

  Opinion was divided, but the majority leaned toward a rapid advance toward Aleppo.

  “If the emperor’s forces decided against an engagement here,” offered Setau, “it’s only because they want to meet us on their own ground. Wouldn’t it be wise to take hold of this fortress and use it a base for launching our attack, instead of sending all our divisions into battle and playing into the enemy’s hands?”

  “We may end up wasting precious time,” objected the Amon general.

  “I don’t think we will. Since the Hittite army has stopped defending Kadesh, we can make quick work of it. We may even be able to persuade the Syrians to surrender, in exchange for their lives.”

  “We’ll lay siege to Kadesh and take the fortress,” Ramses pronounced. “Henceforth, this region will be placed under Pharaoh’s authority.”

  Led by the king, the Amon division cut through the forest of Labwi, took the first ford, and crossed the flats. They halted northwest of the imposing fortress with crenellated walls and five towers where Syrian soldiers stood by as the Ra troops took up a position facing the fort. The Ptah division camped near the ford, while the Set division stayed at the edge of the woods. The next day, after a night and morning of rest, the Egyptian troops would join forces before encircling Kadesh and launching their initial attack upon the fort.

  The engineers set up Pharaoh’s camp with lightning swiftness. Forming a rectangle with tall shields, they raised the sovereign’s spacious tent, which featured a bedroom, a study, and an audience chamber. A number of smaller tents were reserved for the officers. The ordinary soldiers would sleep under the stars or, in case of rain, under cloth shelters. At the entry to the camp, a wooden gate flanked with two statues of lions led into a central walkway. It ended at a chapel where the king would say prayers to Amon.

  As soon as the division general gave the order to lay down arms, the soldiers went about a variety of tasks assigned to them by unit. The horses, donkeys, and oxen had to be tended to. Laundry was done, wheels were repaired, daggers and lances were sharpened, rations distributed, meals prepared. The aroma of cooking made the men forget Kadesh, the Hittites, and the war. They began to joke, tell stories, gamble their wages. A group of hotheads organized a wrestling t
ournament.

  Ramses groomed his horses himself, then fed his lion; Fighter was as voracious as ever. The camp settled down, the stars took possession of the sky, the king’s eyes were riveted on the hulking fortress that his father had judged wiser not to annex. If he could take it, he would deal a serious blow to the Hittite empire. Ramses would install an elite garrison, thwarting any future invasion of Egyptian territory.

  He stretched out on his claw-footed bed and laid his head on a pillowcase in a papyrus and lotus print. The delicacy of the pattern brought a smile to his face. How far away the Two Lands seemed, with their good life!

  When the king closed his eyes, he saw the sublime face of Nefertari.

  “On your feet, Shaanar.”

  “Do you know who you’re talking to, guard?”

  “A traitor who should get the death penalty.”

  “I’m the king’s older brother!”

  “You’re nobody now. Your name will vanish forever. Get up, or you’ll feel the sting of my whip.”

  “You have no right to mistreat a prisoner.”

  Sensing the threat was serious, Shaanar now rose.

  In the main jail in Memphis, he had suffered no special hardships. Unlike the other inmates, who did forced labor in the fields or repairing dikes, the prince was kept in a cell and fed twice a day.

  The jailer muscled him into the hall. Shaanar thought he might be put in a chariot heading for a desert outpost, but instead the burly guards marched him into an office. Waiting for him was the man he hated most after Ramses and Ahsha: Ahmeni, the faithful scribe, the incorruptible.

  “You’ve chosen to side with the losers, Ahmeni. Your triumph will be short-lived, believe me.”

  “You never did know when to give up, Shaanar.”

  “I’ll have the last laugh when the Hittites crush Ramses and get me out of here.”

  “Your incarceration has evidently made you lose your mind, but perhaps your memory still serves you.”

  Shaanar scowled. “What do you want from me, Ahmeni?”

  “The names of your accomplices.”

  “Accomplices? Why, the whole court, the whole country, my dear little man! When I take the throne, they’ll worship at my feet, and I’ll punish my enemies.”

  “I want names, Shaanar.”

  “You’re much too curious, Ahmeni. And don’t you believe I was strong enough to have acted alone?”

  “You were manipulated, Shaanar, and your friends have abandoned you.”

  “You’re wrong. Ramses is a doomed man.”

  “If you talk, Shaanar, the conditions of your imprisonment might be less harsh.”

  “I won’t be a prisoner for long. If I were you, little scribe, I’d start running! I plan to settle every score, and you’ll be at the top of my list.”

  “One last time, Shaanar: will you give me the names of your accomplices?”

  “When demons slash your face and rip out your entrails!”

  “Life in a penal colony will loose your tongue.”

  “You’ll grovel at my feet, Ahmeni.”

  “Take him away,” the secretary told the guards.

  The prince was pushed into a chariot drawn by two oxen. A policeman was at the reins. Four mounted policemen would ride along to the desert penal colony.

  Shaanar sat on a rough plank and felt every bump in the road. But the pain and rough treatment made no difference to him. Feeling the ultimate prize within his grasp, then seeing it slip away, had inspired an insatiable desire for revenge.

  As the day wore on, Shaanar dozed, dreaming of triumphs to come.

  Suddenly, grains of sand whipped his face. He fell to his knees in astonishment and looked around.

  A huge tan-colored cloud hid the sky and filled the desert. The storm came from nowhere and hit with incredible speed.

  In a panic, two of the horses threw their riders. As their comrades rushed to help them, Shaanar punched the driver, shoved him out of the chariot, grabbed the reins, and headed for the eye of the storm.

  FIFTY-THREE

  The morning was overcast and the fortress of Kadesh was slow to emerge from the fog. Its imposing mass continued to challenge the Egyptian army. Tucked between the river and the wooded hills, it seemed unassailable. From the height at which the king and the Amon division had positioned themselves, Ramses could see the Ra division on the flatland in front of the fort and the Ptah division between the forest of Labwi and the first ford. Soon they would cross the river, with the Set division following close behind. Then the four divisions would come together in a victorious attack on the fortress.

  The soldiers checked their weapons. They were itching to use their daggers, spears, swords, short sabers, clubs, hatchets, and bows. As the battle approached, the horses grew skittish. On orders from the Supply Corps scribe, the campsite was cleaned and the kitchen gear washed and rinsed. The officers reviewed the troops and sent the ill-shaven to see the barber. They were just as picky about neat uniforms. Any infraction was worth several days’ hard labor.

  Shortly before noon, when the sun’s heat finally made itself felt, Ramses had the signal corps give the go-ahead to the Ptah division. They advanced, beginning to ford the river. A messenger was dispatched to send the Set division on its way through the forest of Labwi.

  Then came the sound of thunder.

  Ramses raised his eyes to the heavens, but saw no cloud.

  A clamor rose from the plain. Incredulous, the Pharaoh discovered the true cause of the terrifying roar filling the battle site.

  Hundreds of Hittite chariots had just surged across the second ford, nearer the citadel, and were barreling toward the Ra division. Another gigantic wave was descending upon the Ptah division. Behind the chariots ran thousands of foot soldiers, swarming over the hills and valley like a plague of locusts.

  This immense army had been concealed in the forest to the east of the fort and now caught the Egyptian troops at their most vulnerable.

  The sheer numbers of the enemy force stunned Ramses. When Muwattali appeared, standing in his chariot, the Pharaoh understood.

  The Emperor of Hatti was surrounded by the princes of Syria, Mittani, Aleppo, Ugarit, Carcemish, and Arzawa, as well as several lesser chieftains whom Hattusili had convinced (on the emperor’s orders) to join the Hittites in their effort to crush the Egyptian army.

  Muwattali had forged the broadest coalition that had ever existed, including every country along the coast, by handing out enormous quantities of gold and silver.

  Forty thousand men and three thousand chariots bore down upon the Egyptians, still scattered and now frozen in their tracks.

  Hundreds of the Ptah division’s foot soldiers fell beneath the enemy arrows. Overturned chariots clogged the ford. The survivors ran for shelter in the forest of Labwi, blocking the Set division’s advance. It hardly mattered, since the troops would be easy prey for the massed enemy marksmen if they emerged from the forest.

  Virtually all of the Ptah division’s chariots were destroyed. The Set division’s were stuck in the woods. On the flatland, the situation was becoming catastrophic. The truncated Ra division was powerless; the soldiers began to scatter. The coalition troops were slaughtering the Egyptians, the iron of their weapons breaking bones and rending flesh, their daggers sinking into stomachs.

  The coalition princes cheered Muwattali.

  The emperor’s strategy had been brilliant. Who would have supposed that Ramses’ proud army could be exterminated before even having a chance to fight? The survivors were fleeing like frightened rabbits; their lives would depend on how fast they could run.

  All that remained was to deal the death blow.

  The Amon division and the Pharaoh’s camp, still intact, could not hold out long against the clamoring enemy horde. Then Muwattali’s victory would be complete. With Ramses’ death, the Egypt of the pharaohs would finally bow its head and become Hatti’s slave.

  Seti had never fallen for the trap, but Kadesh had tempted Ramses, a
mistake he would pay for with his life.

  A wild-eyed warrior pushed aside two minor potentates and confronted the emperor.

  “Father, what’s going on?” asked Uri-Teshoop. “Why wasn’t I told about the timing of the attack, when I’m commander-in-chief of your army?”

  “I gave you a specific assignment: defending the fortress with our reserve battalions.”

  “But the fortress isn’t in danger!”

  “Those are my orders, Uri-Teshoop, and you’re forgetting an important fact: I didn’t put you in charge of the coalition forces.”

  “Then who . . .”

  “Who else but my brother, Hattusili, could qualify? Since he’s the one who led the long and patient negotiations with our allies, the honor goes to him.”

  Uri-Teshoop shot a hateful look his uncle’s way and brought his hand to the hilt of his sword.

  “Back to your post, General,” Muwattali ordered curtly.

  The Hittite horsemen overturned the hedge of shields protecting Pharaoh’s camp. The few Egyptian soldiers who attempted to resist were showered with spears. A cavalry lieutenant screamed at the fleeing soldiers not to run. A Hittite arrow pinned him in the mouth, and he died gagging on the shaft.

  More than two thousand chariots were preparing to overrun the royal tent.

  “Master,” exclaimed the driver Menna, “Protector of Egypt, Lord of the Battle, look! We’ll soon be alone in a sea of enemies. Let’s not stay here a moment longer. Let’s go!”

  Ramses gave his groom a withering look. “Out of my sight, man, since you’ve lost your courage.”

  “Majesty, I beg you! Standing your ground won’t prove we’re brave, only mad! The country needs you to stay alive.”