Ramses, Volume I

by Christian Jacq

  Sary laid an affectionate hand on his former pupil’s shoulder.

  “You don’t feel like fishing?”

  “It’s a great idea. The party of the season.”

  “With you here, it had to be.”

  “Don’t make fun of me, Sary.”

  “I wasn’t joking. The court respects you now. More than one person has mentioned how impressive you looked in the New Year’s procession.”

  The affable professor seemed to be sincere. He led Ramses to a tent where cool beer was being served.

  “There’s no better job than being a royal scribe,” he said enthusiastically. “You gain the king’s confidence, you have access to the treasury, the storerooms, you receive a share of excess temple offerings, you’re outfitted with fine clothing, horses, a boat, you have a beautiful residence, you collect revenues from your properties, devoted servants tend to your every need. Your hands stay soft and white, your back unbent, there’s no heavy lifting, no hoes, picks, or shovels, no forced labor, and your orders are carried out to the letter. Your palette, reed pens, and papyrus are the keys to prosperity. They’ll make you a rich and respected man. Fame and glory, you ask? They go with the job! The voices of scribes are heard through the centuries, while their contemporaries fade into oblivion.”

  “‘Be a scribe, ’” Ramses recited from memory, “‘for a book is more durable than a stela or pyramid; it will preserve your name better than any monument. As heirs, scribes have their books of wisdom; their writings are priests that offer prayers for the departed. Their son is the tablet upon which they write, the stone engraved with hieroglyphs their wife. The strongest buildings crumble and disappear, yet the works of the scribes last through the ages. ’”

  “Splendid!” exclaimed Sary. “You haven’t lost one bit of all I taught you.”

  “I think you mean the teachings of our elders.”

  “Of course, of course . . . but I was the one who led you to them.”

  “And I thank you for it.”

  “I’m prouder of you by the day, my boy. Be the best royal scribe you can, and the rest will take care of itself.”

  Sary had to go play host. Chitchat, drinking, fishing, whispered lies and secrets—Ramses found the atmosphere stifling. He had nothing in common with these people who never looked beyond their limited, privileged horizon.

  His sister took him gently by the arm.

  “Happy?” asked Dolora.

  “Doesn’t it show?”

  “What do you think of my outfit?”

  He stepped back to look at her. Her dress was too gaudy, her wig too elaborate, but at least she seemed a bit perkier than usual.

  “You look like the perfect hostess.”

  “A compliment from you? How very unusual!”

  “That should make it special.”

  “You looked awfully good in the New Year’s procession, I hear.”

  “I stood there and didn’t say a word.”

  “Exactly. The court was expecting a different kind of behavior.”

  “What kind?”

  A wicked gleam came into Dolora’s eyes. “A protest . . . even an attack. When you don’t get your way, you usually react much more strongly. Is our lion turning into a lamb?”

  Ramses clenched his fists, fighting the urge to slap her.

  “Do you know what I want, Dolora?”

  “What our brother has, and it can never be yours.”

  “You’re wrong. I’m not envious. All I’m searching for is my own true path.”

  “Ramses, there’s not much going on at this time of year, and Memphis can be so hot. We’re leaving soon for our place in the Delta. Come with us. We never see you. You can teach us to row, we can swim and catch some really big fish.”

  “My work . . .”

  “Come, Ramses. Now that you’re recognized as a member of the royal family, why not spend some time with us. You need to unwind.”

  There were cries as the biggest fish of the day was landed. Dolora rushed to congratulate the winner, while Sary presented the deluxe papyrus.

  Ramses waved to Ahmeni.

  “My line broke,” confessed the secretary.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Already?”

  “The contest’s over, isn’t it?”

  Shaanar, expensively dressed as ever, approached them.

  “Sorry I’m so late. You could have given me some fishing tips.”

  “Ahmeni stood in for me.”

  “Not feeling well?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Ramses, I’m glad to see how well you’re controlling yourself. Even so, I thought you’d want to thank me.”

  “For what?”

  “The only reason you were included in the New Year’s procession was because I insisted. Seti was afraid you might not behave correctly, with good reason, I might add. Fortunately, you did very well. Keep it up and we’ll stay on the best of terms.”

  Shaanar and his retinue moved along. Sary and Dolora bowed to him; his unannounced arrival was a social coup.

  Sitting in the dark on his terrace, Ramses scratched his dog behind the ears. Watcher closed his eyes; this was heaven. The prince contemplated the circumpolar stars, the ones that were said to shine eternally. According to the sages, they represented the hearts of pharaohs who had passed through the judgment hall of the dead and been restored to life everlasting.

  A naked Iset put her arms around his neck. “All you care about is that dog. You make love to me and then leave me alone in bed!”

  “I don’t fall asleep like you do.”

  “Kiss me and I’ll tell you a little secret.”

  “I can’t stand blackmail.”

  “I got your sister to invite me along to the Delta. That way you won’t be stuck alone with your relatives, and some people will thank us. You know they’re placing bets that we’re secretly married.”

  She wound herself around him, affectionate and catlike, until the prince could no longer ignore her caresses. He picked her up, carried her across the terrace to the bed, laid her down and covered her body with his.

  Ahmeni was happy: Ramses was back to eating with his usual gusto.

  “We’re all ready to go,” the secretary announced proudly. “I made sure everything’s packed correctly. We can use a vacation.”

  “You deserve one. Planning to catch up on your sleep?”

  “When I start on a project, I can’t rest until it’s finished.”

  “You won’t have to work at my sister’s.”

  “I’m afraid I will. I’m still a bit behind after my accident.”

  “Ahmeni! Will you ever learn to relax?”

  “Like master, like servant,” he joked.

  Ramses took him by the shoulders. “You’re not my servant. You’re my friend. Please follow my advice and take a few days off.”

  “I’ll try, but . . .”

  “What is it?”

  “The counterfeit ink, the abandoned warehouse . . . I have to get to the bottom of it.”

  “Are you sure it’s in your best interest to keep trying?”

  “We’d be doing the country a favor.”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t want to neglect your civic duty.”

  “Ramses, I know you agree with me.”

  “I asked my mother to help us.”

  “That’s great!”

  “Nothing new has turned up, though.”

  “It will. We’re going to get them.”

  “Ahmeni, I couldn’t care less about the ink. But I do want to get my hands on the man who tried to kill you and find out where he got his orders.”

  The fierce determination on Ramses’ face made his secretary tremble.

  “I won’t let you down, Ahmeni.”

  Sary had chartered an elegant boat that could hold thirty passengers comfortably. How delicious to float down the broad, flooded Nile to a comfortable hilltop villa surrounded by palm trees! The heat would be more bearable in the country, and the lazy, ench
anting days would flow peacefully along.

  The captain was in a hurry to leave. The harbor patrol had just cleared them for departure. If he missed his turn, there was liable to be a two- or three-hour wait.

  “Ramses is late,” his sister whined.

  “Iset the Fair is here, though,” Sary reminded her.

  “Did they send his baggage?”

  “It was all loaded before the sun came up.”

  Dolora angrily stamped her feet. “Here comes his secretary!”

  Ahmeni ran up in fits and starts.

  “Ramses has disappeared,” he panted.

  NINETEEN

  A floppy-eared yellow dog at his side, the traveler had a reed sleeping mat slung over his shoulders; in his left hand he carried a leather sack for his clothing and sandals, in his right a walking stick. When they stopped to rest, he spread the mat beneath a tree and slept, with his faithful watchdog to protect him.

  Prince Ramses had completed the first stage of his journey by boat, the second on foot. Taking narrow roads across river bluffs, he had stopped with villagers he met along the way. He was refreshed to find a peaceful, unchanging world that moved to an ancient cycle of seasons and festivals.

  Ramses had not told Ahmeni or Iset the Fair his plans. He wanted to set off alone, like any Egyptian going to visit relatives or look for off-season work on one of the royal construction projects.

  In certain towns he took the ferry, sitting with people too poor to own even the most rudimentary boat. Dozens of light craft, all different sizes, went by in both directions. Some were full of children who stood and jostled one another until they all fell in the river. Then they launched into a furious race.

  The winter months, the time for recreation and travel . . . Ramses felt the people of Egypt breathing, joyful and serene in the knowledge that Pharaoh protected them. He heard Seti mentioned with respect and admiration, felt proud to be his son, vowed to live up to the privilege, even if he remained a simple royal scribe, tallying the wheat harvest or registering decrees.

  On the northern edge of the Faiyum, the lush province ruled by Sobek, the crocodile god, lay the royal harem of Merur, a vast complex tended by the finest gardeners in the kingdom, with a network of carefully engineered canals. Many considered it the most beautiful domain in Egypt. Elderly ladies left the court and retired here, surrounded by lovely young women who were brought to train as weavers, to study poetry, music, dance. They learned to make gemstone and enamel jewelry. The harem buzzed with constant activity.

  Before approaching the gates, Ramses changed his simple kilt, put on his sandals, dusted off his dog. When they were presentable, he approached a surly-faced guard.

  “I’m here to see a friend.”

  “Your letter of introduction, young man?”

  “I don’t need one.”

  The guard bristled. “What makes you think so?”

  “I’m Prince Ramses, the son of Seti.”

  “A likely story! A king’s son would travel with a retinue.”

  “I have my dog.”

  “Move along, boy. Enough of your jokes now.”

  “Out of my way. It’s an order.”

  His firm tone and commanding gaze took the guard by surprise. Should he throw this imposter out or check on his story?

  “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Moses.”

  “Wait here.”

  Watcher sat in the shade of a persea tree. The air was fragrant. Hundreds of birds flocked in the harem’s groves. Could life be any sweeter?

  “Ramses?”

  Pushing the guard aside, Moses ran toward Ramses. The friends embraced, then walked through the gate, followed by Watcher, who sniffed longingly at the guardhouse kitchen.

  Moses and Ramses went down a flagstone alley that wound through the sycamores, ending at a broad pond with white lotuses in full bloom. They sat down on a bench made from three blocks of limestone.

  “What a wonderful surprise, Ramses. Have you been sent to work here?”

  “No, I wanted to see you.”

  “You came alone, without an escort?”

  “Does that shock you?”

  “No, it’s quite in character. What have you been up to since we left school?”

  “I became a royal scribe and I was led to believe my father wanted me to be his successor.”

  “Would Shaanar ever settle for that?”

  “It was only a dream, of course, but I was absolutely certain. When my father chose a public occasion to put me in my place, I realized how badly mistaken I’d been. Even so . . .”

  “Go on.”

  “A force is still alive in me, the same force that made me overstep my boundaries. I can’t settle for less than excellence. What should we do with our lives, Moses?”

  “That’s the only important question, I agree.”

  “What’s your answer?”

  “I have no more idea than you do. Here I help run operations, supervise the weavers and potters. I have my own private quarters with five rooms and a garden. The food is wonderful. Thanks to the harem library, I’ve become a Hebrew full of the wisdom of the Egyptians! What more could I ask?”

  “A girlfriend?”

  Moses smiled. “Plenty of women here. Have you found someone?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Who?”

  “Do you know Iset the Fair?”

  “Fit for a king.” He whistled. “I envy you. But why the ‘maybe’?”

  “She’s gorgeous and she’s smart. I love being with her, but I can’t really say I love her. I thought love would be different, more intense, more—”

  “Stop worrying! Live for today. Isn’t that the song the harpists sing at our banquets?”

  “Moses, have you found love here?”

  “I’ve certainly found lovers. But it’s not enough. I feel a fire inside me, the same as you do, a force I can’t name. Should we stoke the fire or try to forget it’s there?”

  “We have no choice, Moses. If we try to ignore it, we’ll flicker like shadows and die.”

  “Do you think that the world is light?”

  “Light is in this world.”

  Moses looked up at the sky.

  “In the secret heart of the sun.”

  Ramses made his friend look away. “Don’t look straight at it or you’ll go blind.”

  “I plan to find out what’s hidden there.”

  A frightened cry interrupted their conversation. They saw two girls fleeing down a nearby lane, as fast as their slender legs would carry them.

  “Now it’s your turn for a surprise,” said Moses. “Let’s find out what scared those poor girls out of their wits. They’re two of my weavers.”

  The prankster was still in plain sight. With one knee bent, he retrieved a snake, admired its dark green skin, and popped it into a sack.

  “Setau!”

  The snake charmer seemed not the least surprised. He answered Ramses’ astonished questions, explaining that he was here to deliver snake venom to the harem laboratory, his best customer. And it was always a pleasure to spend a few days with Moses. Now they could have a grand reunion, make up for lost time, then go their separate ways again.

  “I’ve taught Moses a thing or two. Close your eyes, Ramses.”

  When the prince was told to open them again, Moses, steady as a rock, held a thin dark brown wand in his right hand.

  “Not much of a trick,” the prince said.

  “Take a closer look,” urged Setau.

  The wand came alive and began to wriggle. Moses let go of a good-sized snake, which Setau quickly recovered.

  “A nice piece of magic, and completely natural. A cool head, a steady hand, and you can fool anyone, even a king’s son.”

  “Teach me to use your magic wand.”

  “Why not?”

  The three friends found a quiet fruit grove where Setau could hold class. Handling live snakes required dexterity and precision.

  A troupe of slim g
irls went over a dance routine. Wearing straight knee-length kilts with straps that crisscrossed over the shoulders, hair pulled back in bead-trimmed ponytails, they coordinated their acrobatic moves.

  Ramses had been admitted as a friend of Moses, a favorite with the harem dancers, though today they did little to lighten his mood. Compared to his friends, Setau was blithe. He had already found his true calling, studying snakes and dealing with the constant threat of sudden death. Moses wished he could also find his life’s work, but instead he was caught in a tangle of administrative tasks. His performance was nevertheless so outstanding that he was slated for his own directorship once there was an opening.

  “One day,” he promised Ramses, “I’m going to leave it all behind.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not quite sure, but I do know I can’t stand it here much longer.”

  “We’ll leave together.”

  A perfumed dancer brushed against the two friends, failing to raise their spirits. When the number was over, however, they let themselves be talked into staying for refreshments. By a blue-tinted pond, the dancers and their teachers showered Prince Ramses with questions about the court, his work as a royal scribe, his future plans. His answers were unforthcoming, almost curt. The disappointed girls started playing a game, quoting poetry their friends had to identify, a good way to show off their literary knowledge.

  Ramses noticed that one of the group remained silent. Younger than her companions, with shiny jet black hair and blue-green eyes, the girl was stunning.

  “What’s her name?” he asked Moses.

  “Nefertari.”

  “Why so shy?”

  “She’s new at the harem and comes from a humble family. Her gifts as a weaver are what brought her here. Now she’s the best at everything she tries, and the society girls resent her.”