Ramses, Volume I

by Christian Jacq

  Unsure how to act, Ramses stopped short a few feet from his father, who failed to offer him a seat.

  “That was dangerous business,” Seti said.

  “Yes and no. I’ve ridden that horse, and it’s not a mean one. It must have been standing too long in the sun.”

  “Still, it was much too risky. My guardsmen would have handled it.”

  “I was trying to help.”

  “Help get yourself noticed?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Be honest.”

  “Calming a wild horse is no easy task.”

  “Am I to conclude that you staged the incident for your own benefit?”

  Ramses flushed indignantly. “Father! How could you—”

  “A pharaoh studies strategy.”

  “Would that seem like a good one to you?”

  “At your age, a trick like that would not bode well for the future. But the way you reacted when I accused you convinces me you’re sincere.”

  “I will confess I was trying to find a way to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “When you left for Syria, you wouldn’t take me along because I couldn’t fight like a soldier. While you were gone, I took care of that. I won the rank of officer.”

  “A hard-fought battle, I hear.”

  Ramses barely concealed his surprise.

  “You knew already?”

  “So you’re an officer now.”

  “I can ride, fight with a sword, lance, shield, or as an archer.”

  “Are you fond of war, Ramses?”

  “It’s necessary, isn’t it?”

  “War causes great suffering; is that something you wish to propagate?”

  “Is there another means of ensuring our country’s freedom and prosperity? We never go on the offensive, but when we’re attacked, we retaliate. Which is as it should be.”

  “If you were me, would you have destroyed Kadesh?”

  The young man thought for a moment.

  “I’d need to consider the facts first. I know nothing about your campaign, except that the peace was preserved and the people of Egypt feel more secure. Giving you an unfounded opinion would be sheer stupidity.”

  “Aren’t there other subjects you’d like to bring up?”

  The prince had wrestled with the questions for days and nights on end, struggling to repress his urge to act. Should he share his suspicions about Shaanar with the Pharaoh, tell him that the heir apparent was spreading false claims to his father’s victory? Ramses was sure he could find the words to convey his righteous outrage, to convince his father that Shaanar was a snake in the grass.

  Now that he was here, denouncing his brother seemed pointless and libelous. How could he play the informer, how could he ever have thought he was one step ahead of Seti! Still, he could not bring himself to lie.

  “It’s true that I wanted to tell you something . . .”

  “Then why not tell me?”

  “I’m in no position to sling mud.”

  “Why not let me be the judge?”

  “You already know what I was planning to say. If that’s not true, my dreams amount to nothing.”

  “You seem to go from one extreme to the other.”

  “There’s a fire that burns in me, a demand for something I can’t define, a need that love or friendship alone can never satisfy.”

  “Coming from someone your age, that sounds final.”

  “Will time make it any easier?”

  “Count on no one but yourself, and life may give you more than you expect.”

  “Can you tell me what this fire is, Father?”

  “Refine the question. Then the answer will come to you.” Seti looked down at the scroll he was studying. The conversation was over.

  Ramses bowed. As he turned to go, his father’s low voice stopped him cold.

  “Your timing is good. I was planning to send for you. Tomorrow, as soon as I celebrate the rites of dawn, we leave for the turquoise mines in the Sinai peninsula.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  In this eighth year of Seti’s reign, Ramses marked his sixteenth birthday on the eastern desert road to the famous mines at Serabit el-Khadim. Although closely patrolled, the route remained dangerous enough that no one ventured here lightly to brave thirst, evil spirits, and pillaging Bedouins. Undeterred by the threat of arrest and imprisonment, they freely attacked caravans forced to cross the Sinai peninsula.

  While this expedition was far from warlike in nature, a contingent of soldiers was guarding the Pharaoh and the miners. The king’s participation made it exceptional. His departure was announced just before the evening rites, and he left the next morning. Queen Tuya was to govern in his absence.

  Ramses had been given his first important assignment: lead officer of the infantry detachment, reporting to Bakhen, who had been appointed commander. When the troops assembled, the two greeted each other icily, unwilling to risk a confrontation with the king looking on. Besides, it would be a long journey; they would have to learn to work together. Bakhen lost no time in relegating Ramses to the rear guard, where, he claimed, “a neophyte could do the least harm to his troops.”

  More than six hundred men formed the guard contingent. They would also escort the precious stone safely home from the remote and arid land where the goddess Hathor appeared in the form of turquoise.

  The desert road itself presented few difficulties; it was well marked and well maintained, studded with small forts and watering spots. It ran through hostile territory, up red and yellow mountains so high that they awed the men who were seeing them for the first time. Some were convinced that evil genies lurked in the peaks, ready to pounce on their souls. But Seti’s presence and Ramses’ self-assurance brought them back to their senses.

  Ramses had hoped for a test that would prove his true worth to his father, so the uneventful journey was a disappointment. He had no trouble asserting his authority over the thirty foot soldiers assigned to him. They had all heard about his talent for archery and how he had controlled a stampeding horse; they all hoped serving under him would bring a promotion.

  At Ramses’ insistence, Ahmeni had agreed to stay behind. In the first place, it would be too hard on his frail constitution. Furthermore, he had just made a discovery in a waste dump close to the suspect factory: a fragment of limestone with a bizarre inscription. It was too soon yet to say whether it represented a solid lead, but the young scribe intended to follow up on it. Ramses begged him to be careful. Ahmeni would have Watcher to guard him, and could call on Setau if needed. Their friend was still prospering, selling venom to temple laboratories and ridding posh villas of the odd cobra.

  The prince found himself watching his back. Much as he loved the Egyptian desert where he had almost lost his life, the Sinai made him uneasy: too many looming boulders, too many disturbing shadows, too much chaos. Despite Bakhen’s denials, Ramses was apprehensive about a Bedouin attack. Nothing direct, with such a large force of Egyptians, but they still might attempt to pick off stragglers; even worse, they could sneak into camp at night. The prince took special precautions, doubling the orders he gave to his men. He had a run-in with Bakhen, resulting in the decision to put Bakhen in charge of security, yet taking Ramses’ misgivings into account.

  One evening, the king’s son left the rear guard to work his way up the column, bivouac by bivouac. His men had been shorted on rations and wanted some wine. He was told to see the expedition’s director of operations and escorted to the tent that served as his office. Ramses lifted the tent flap, bent low, and stared in silent amazement at the man who sat there cross-legged, studying a map by lamplight.

  “Moses! What brings you here?”

  “Pharaoh’s orders. I’m in charge of logistics and making a better map of the region.”

  “I’m in command of the rear guard.”

  “I hadn’t heard. Bakhen doesn’t have much use for you, it seems.”

  “We’re getting along better now.”
r />   “Let’s go outside. It’s too cramped in here.”

  The two young men had a similar build, athletic and powerful, that made them seem older than their years. Their boyhood was gone for good.

  “I was glad when the call came,” Moses confessed. “The harem had nothing left to offer me. I was ready to pack it in.”

  “I thought Merur was a dream job.”

  “Not for me. Sweet young things began to grate on my nerves, the arts and crafts crowd was too competitive, and I’m not cut out to be an administrator.”

  “Is this desert any better?”

  “A thousand times! I love it here, the stone faces, the sense that something out there is watching you. I feel at home.”

  “Do you still feel that fire we talked about?”

  “It’s not as strong now. My cure isn’t far away. It’s somewhere in these dry rocks and secret ravines.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “You don’t hear the desert call to you?”

  “Not this one. I only sense danger.”

  “The soldier in you,” Moses said huffily.

  “Speaking of that, my men are short on wine. Your operation must be breaking down.”

  Moses burst out laughing. “Yes, I’m responsible for that. I thought it would be better for the rear guard to stay alert.”

  “A little wine would help with their morale.”

  “Our first contest of wills,” Moses noted. “Who’ll come out on top?”

  “Neither of us. We have to act for the good of the group.”

  “My friend, you take this command you’ve been given so seriously. Could it be a way to escape from yourself ?”

  “You ought to know me better than that.”

  Moses looked Ramses straight in the eye. “You’ll get a small supply of wine if you promise to try and appreciate the Sinai.”

  “It’s not like Egypt.”

  “I’m not Egyptian, Ramses.”

  “Of course you are.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “You were born and raised in Egypt. Your future’s there.”

  “You’re an Egyptian. I’m a Hebrew, with different ancestors. Perhaps they lived here . . . I can feel their footsteps, guess their hopes and disappointments.”

  “This desert is getting to you.”

  “You can’t understand.”

  “Don’t you trust me anymore?”

  “You know I do.”

  “I love Egypt more than my life, Moses. Nothing is more precious to me than my country. If you think you’ve found yours, then I do have some idea how you feel.”

  The young Hebrew sat down on a rock. “A country . . . no, this desert is not a country. I love Egypt as much as you do, I appreciate the opportunities I’ve been given. But all along I’ve felt another place calling me home.”

  “This is the first other place you’ve seen. Is it the right one?”

  “It may not be, I grant you.”

  “We’ll cross other deserts together, and you’ll come back to Egypt. The light that shines there is unique.”

  “How can you be so sure of yourself ?”

  “Because in the rear guard I have no time to worry about the future.”

  In the dark desert night, their chiming laughter filtered up to the stars.

  The donkeys set the pace, the men followed. Each carried his weight, none lacked for food or water. At several points the king ordered the expedition to halt while Moses took readings for his map. He and his team of surveyors followed dried riverbeds, scaled cliffs, chose new landmarks to be charted later.

  Ramses still felt a vague apprehension. He and three experienced foot soldiers kept a constant watch to keep his friend safe from a Bedouin ambush. Moses knew how to take care of himself, but he still might fall into a trap. Fortunately, nothing of the sort occurred, and Moses accomplished the feat of collecting enough data for a detailed new map. Future travelers would thank him.

  After dinner, the two friends sat by the fire and talked into the night. Grown used to the calls of hyenas and wildcats, they were comfortable with their rough existence, far from the mansions of Memphis and the harem of Merur. They waited for the dawn, convinced each new day would hold some clue to the inner mysteries they strove to unveil. Often they would fall silent and listen to the darkness. It seemed to whisper that their youth could overcome any obstacle.

  The long cortege drew to a halt.

  In the middle of the morning, it was unheard of; Ramses gave his men the order to put down their gear and prepare for combat.

  “Wait,” said a soldier with a long scar across his chest. “With all due respect, sir, I think a prayer of thanks is more in order.”

  “Explain yourself, soldier.”

  “We’re there, sir.”

  Ramses took a few steps to one side. A rocky, forbidding plateau was outlined in the desert sunlight.

  Serabit el-Khadim, domain of the goddess Hathor, the sovereign lady of turquoise.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Shaanar was seething.

  For the tenth straight time, the queen had refused to give him a more active role in the interim government, claiming that his father had left no specific directive concerning him. His position as heir apparent gave him no authority to deal with matters beyond his comprehension.

  The king’s older son had to bow to his mother’s wishes and stifle his disappointment. He saw now that his network of friends and informers was still too weak to counter Tuya effectively. Instead of moping, Shaanar moved to consolidate his position.

  He hosted a quiet dinner for several influential and tradition-minded courtiers, where he posed as a forthright young man, eager for their advice. Swallowing his pride, he played the model son whose only ambition was to follow in his father’s footsteps. It went over very well. Virtually certain of becoming the next king, Shaanar garnered even more political support.

  However, he seemed to be losing his grasp of foreign affairs, while his primary goal remained establishing commercial ties with other nations, both friendly and hostile. He needed to gauge the exact state of diplomatic relations, but how was that possible without a competent and cooperative inside source? His network of trade contacts was not enough; businessmen focused on profit, not their governments’ true intentions.

  The ideal solution would be finding a diplomat who worked closely with Seti . . . ideal, but almost a pipe dream. Nevertheless, Shaanar needed firsthand information to develop his own strategy and be ready, when the time came, to make sweeping changes in Egyptian policy.

  The word treason came to mind, making him smile. What would he ever betray except the past, except tradition?

  From the flat, rocky top of Serabit el-Khadim, the view was a chaotic jumble of mountains and valleys. The turquoise plateau was the only peaceful spot in this harsh, disturbing landscape.

  Ramses looked down in amazement. In places, the precious stone showed through the rocky surface. Elsewhere it was less accessible. Generation after generation of miners had dug tunnels and passageways. Between expeditions, they stowed their tools underground. There was no permanent operation, since turquoise extracted during the hotter months tended to crack and fade.

  Old hands supervised the newcomers and the operation was soon in full swing. The shortest possible stay in the Sinai was the most desirable. The men repaired the stone huts where they would camp; any shelter from the cold night air was welcome. Before they went into the mines, Pharaoh led devotions in the little temple to Hathor, asking the sky goddess to aid and protect them. The Egyptians had not come to harm the mountain, but to harvest precious stones for the temples. The stones they cut and polished would shine with the star queen’s eternal and life-giving beauty.

  Soon the sound of chisels, mallets, and shears rang out, along with the shouts of the miners. They worked in small groups, which Seti visited in turn. As for Ramses, he toured the stelae erected by earlier expeditions. It was his way of paying homage to the mysterious powers of eart
h and sky, as well as the men who had worked here before him and their legendary finds.

  Moses worked hard as director of operations, making sure each member of the expedition was housed and fed, each shrine supplied with incense. Because they honored the gods, the men were blessed with treasures like the huge hunk of turquoise a lucky young miner discovered.

  Given the site’s configuration, there was no threat of a surprise attack. No one could scale the steep slope leading to the plateau without being spied by the lookouts. Ramses therefore had one of the easier assignments in camp. For the first few days, he worked his unit with iron discipline, then realized it was ludicrous. While maintaining basic security, he soon relaxed the men’s routine and let them indulge in the long afternoon naps they loved.

  The prince grew restless with so little to do. He offered his help to Moses, but his friend refused, needing to be in control. He had no luck with the miners, either, who said the tunnels were no place for a prince. Finally Bakhen blew up and ordered Ramses to mind his own business and stop interfering with everyone else’s work.

  So Ramses concentrated on his men. He learned all about their careers, their families, listened to their complaints, argued with them on certain points, conceded others. They wanted better retirement pay and more recognition from the government, considering that they often served under difficult conditions and far from home. Few of them had ever seen combat, but all had worked in the quarries, on state construction projects, or expeditions like this one. The life was hard, but they were proud of their profession, and anyone lucky enough to accompany the Pharaoh could dine out on his recollections for years to come.

  Ramses observed. He learned the day-to-day operation of a work site, understood the necessity for a hierarchy based on ability, not social position. He learned to tell the hard workers from the slackers, the diligent from the easily distracted, the talkers from the silent types. And his gaze kept returning to the stelae placed by their ancestors, the sacred aspirations of their desert shrines pointing toward the heavens.