“Inspiring, aren’t they?”
His father had surprised him.
Dressed in a simple kilt, the same as those his Old Kingdom counterparts wore, he remained every inch the Pharaoh, radiating a strength that fascinated Ramses more each time they met. Seti needed no special adornment; his mere presence was enough to assert his authority. No other man possessed this magic; all relied on artifice or attitude. Seti appeared, and chaos turned to order.
“They make me take stock,” Ramses confided.
“Stone has a voice. Unlike ours, it is always true. A destroyer’s monuments will themselves be destroyed, a liar’s actions will have no lasting effect. Pharaoh’s sole strength is the law of Ma’at.”
Ramses’ head spun. Was his father accusing him? Had he been destructive or untrue? His impulse was to scramble over the edge of the plateau, climb down, and disappear in the desert. But what crime had he committed? He waited for his father to continue, but the king simply gazed into the distance.
Shaanar . . . yes, his father must be referring to Shaanar, without naming names! He knew what his heir was up to and was advising Ramses of his real position. His fate was changing again! The prince felt certain that Seti was about to tell him something important, and his disappointment was in proportion to his expectations.
“What is the goal of this expedition?” asked the king. Ramses hesitated. Was there more than it seemed to his question?
“To bring back turquoise for the gods in their temples.”
“Does our country’s prosperity depend on precious stones?”
“No, but what would we do without their beauty?”
“Wealth that is based on profit is hollow and cannot last. Each person, each thing, has its special worth, which you must find and value. Cherish what is irreplaceable.”
Ramses felt a light suffusing his heart and bracing him. Seti’s words were engraved in his mind forever.
“The humble and the great alike depend on Pharaoh for their just share. Never favor one over the other. Convince them that the community takes precedence over the individual. What is good for the hive is good for the honeybee, and the bee must serve the hive that gives it life.”
The bee, one of the symbols used in writing Pharaoh’s name! Seti was instructing him once again, slowly revealing the secrets of kingship.
Ramses was staggered.
“Producing wealth is essential, distributing it even more so. When one caste controls the riches, trouble and discord will follow. Smaller shares, more equally portioned out, sow the seeds of joy. A pharaoh’s reign must be like a banquet: when it ends, no one leaves hungry. Observe, my son, and continue to observe. For if you are not a seer, you will never seize the meaning of my words.”
Ramses spent a sleepless night, his eyes fixed on a blue vein running down one side of the plateau. He asked Hathor to lift the dark clouds in the midst of which he seemed to be struggling, inconsequential as a wisp of straw.
His father had a specific plan, but what was it? Ramses had stopped thinking he might become king one day, but then why would Seti, who never wasted words, favor him with his teachings? In the same situation, Moses might have a clearer understanding, but the prince had to forge his own path, and go it alone.
Shortly before dawn, he noticed a shadowy form exiting the main tunnel. In the fading moonlight, it looked like a demon scurrying between doors to the underworld. But the demon in question had a human shape and clutched something to its chest.
“Who goes there?”
The man froze for an instant, turned to look at the prince, then ran toward the rockiest part of the plateau, where the only building was a tool shed. Ramses took off in pursuit.
“Stop!”
The man ran faster. So did Ramses. He caught up to the apparition as they reached the plateau’s steeper edge.
The prince dove, tackling the man’s legs. The fugitive fell, still clutching his right hand to his chest. With his left, he grabbed a stone and tried to smash his attacker’s brains. Ramses elbowed him in the throat, knocking the wind out of him. The man staggered to his feet, lost his balance, and pitched backward.
A scream, a second cry of pain, then the sound of a body tumbling from rock to rock and finally landing with a thud.
When Ramses worked his way down, the thief was dead, still holding a sackful of turquoise. Ramses had seen the man before. It was the chariot driver who had arranged to have him killed.
TWENTY-SIX
None of the miners knew much about the culprit. It was his first expedition and he had kept to himself. He was an asset in the mines, spending hours in the deepest tunnels and winning the respect of his co-workers.
The penalty for stealing turquoise was so stiff that it hadn’t happened in ages. The thief had gotten what he deserved, the men thought: it was the law of the desert. Due to the serious nature of his offense, the criminal was not given a proper funeral. His mouth and eyes would not be open in the next world, he would not be able to negotiate the rows of doors to the netherworld, he would fall prey to the goddess of destruction.
“Who hired this man?” Ramses asked Moses.
The Hebrew consulted his lists. “It seems that I did.”
“You?”
“The director of the harem offered me several workers to bring along here; I signed them on.”
Ramses breathed easier. “The dead thief was the chariot driver who left me in the desert.”
Moses turned pale. “You didn’t think . . .”
“Not for an instant, but someone must have played you for a fool.”
“The harem director? He’s innocent as a lamb.”
“And probably as gullible. I need to get back to Egypt, Moses, and find out what’s behind this.”
“I thought you were giving up the quest for power.”
“I still have to know the truth.”
“It may not be pretty.”
“Are you keeping something from me?”
“No, I swear it. But who would dare to take on Pharaoh’s younger son?”
“More people than you or I might imagine.”
“If it’s a plot, the instigator will stay out of reach.”
“You’re giving up on me, Moses?”
“The whole affair is madness. If you’re not Seti’s successor, who would want to harm you?”
Ramses said nothing about his latest conversations with his father. They were a secret well of thought he would return to again and again before he understood their meaning.
“Will you help me, Moses, if I need you?”
“Do you even need to ask?”
In spite of the incident with the turquoise thief, Seti did not alter the expedition’s timetable. Only when the correct quantity of stone had been mined would the king give the signal for their return to Egypt.
The chief of palace security ran all the way to the queen’s chambers. Tuya’s messenger had told him to come at once.
“At your service, Majesty.”
“Tell me about your investigation.”
“But . . . it’s finished!”
“Really?”
“I found out everything I could.”
“About the charioteer, for instance?”
“Poor soul . . .”
“Can you explain how a dead man could leave on a mining expedition and be caught stealing turquoise?”
The security chief shriveled. “That’s—it’s impossible!”
“Are you saying I’m insane?”
“Your Majesty!”
“I see three possibilities. You were in on the plot, you were incompetent, or both.”
“Majesty—”
“You didn’t even try.”
The palace official threw himself at the queen’s feet.
“They lied to me, they fooled me, I promise I’ll—”
“I don’t like snivelers. Now tell me who paid you off.”
The security chief’s disjointed explanation gave ample evidence of how unfit he was for his job, a
fact hitherto concealed by his skill at public relations. Afraid of compromising his position, he had never dared push too hard. He had tried to do right. He begged the queen’s mercy.
“You can serve as my older son’s doorman. At least try to screen his visitors.”
The ex–security chief made an impressive show of his gratitude, unaware that the Great Royal Wife had already left the audience chamber.
Ramses and Moses swept into Merur like a whirlwind, pulling their chariot up short in front of the administration building. They had taken turns driving, each trying to outdo the other in skill and endurance. With several stops for fresh horses, they had made the journey from Memphis in record time.
The clatter of their arrival roused the harem director from his afternoon nap.
“Have you lost your minds!” he shouted. “This is no army post!”
“The Great Royal Wife sent me here on a mission,” revealed Ramses.
The director laid his twitching hands on a bulging belly.
“Ah. But is that any reason to cause a disturbance?”
“It’s an emergency.”
“Here, in my establishment?”
“Under this very roof. I’m here for you.”
Moses nodded. The director recoiled a step or two.
“You must be mistaken.”
“One of the men you sent with me on the Pharaoh’s mining expedition turned out to be a wanted criminal,” the Hebrew explained.
“My dear fellow, you’re raving!”
“Who recommended the man to you?”
“I have no idea what man you’re talking about.”
“Let’s consult your records,” demanded Ramses.
“Do you have a warrant?”
“Will the queen’s state seal serve the purpose?”
The director resisted no further. His search almost over, Ramses was elated. Moses, though more restrained, was also excited by the prospect of learning the truth.
The records relating to the turquoise thief were a disappointment. He had posed not as a veteran charioteer, but as a miner with several expeditions behind him, who had come to teach stonecutting at Merur, specifically turquoise. That was why the head of the harem thought of him as soon as Moses was named to run the mining operation.
The harem official had obviously been duped. With the groom and the driver both dead, there were no more leads, and the instigator of the plot seemed even further out of reach.
Ramses had taken more than two hours of archery practice, hitting target after target. He used his anger to hone his concentration, to channel his energy rather than waste it. When his muscles began to ache, he went for a long and solitary run through the harem’s gardens and orchards. He knew that in this acute state of confusion, only intense physical activity could calm his mind.
The prince never felt tired. His old wet nurse always said she had never seen a sturdier infant. No illness touched him, and neither the cold of winter nor the heat of summer seemed to affect him. He slept soundly and had a tremendous appetite. By the age of ten, he had the athletic physique that daily exercise had continued to strengthen and tone.
Jogging between two rows of tamarisk trees, he heard a song no bird could ever sing. He stopped to listen.
It was a woman’s voice, a lovely one. He moved silently closer and saw her.
In the shade of a willow tree, Nefertari was practicing a tune on the lute, an instrument imported from Asia. Her voice, sweet as summer fruit, drifted on the breeze ruffling the willow fronds. To the young woman’s left was a writing board covered with numbers and geometric figures.
Her beauty was almost unreal. For an instant, Ramses wondered if he might be dreaming.
“I see you . . . why do you hide from music?”
He stepped from behind the bush concealing him.
“What were you doing there?”
He found no explanation; his embarrassment made her smile.
“You’re dripping wet. Have you been running?”
“I came here hoping to identify a man who tried to have me killed.”
Nefertari’s smile vanished. Her seriousness was equally enchanting.
“But you couldn’t.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“You won’t give up.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you never give up.”
Ramses bent to examine her drawings. “Are you studying mathematics?”
“Calculating volumes.”
“To design new temples?”
“I enjoy learning; I don’t worry about tomorrow.”
“Is it all work here, or do you spend time with friends?”
“I’d rather be alone.”
“Don’t demand too much of yourself.”
The blue-green eyes clouded over.
“I didn’t mean to offend you; please forgive me.”
An indulgent smiled flitted over her lightly made-up lips. “Will you be staying awhile at the harem?”
“I go back to Memphis tomorrow.”
“Firmly resolved to learn the truth, I’m sure.”
“Can you blame me?”
“The truth can be dangerous.”
“But I want it, Nefertari, and always will, no matter what the cost.”
He saw a hint of encouragement in her eyes.
“If you come to Memphis, I hope you’ll dine with me some evening.”
“I have several more months of study here at the harem. Then I’ll return to my home province.”
“And the man you left behind?”
“You ask too many questions.”
Ramses felt stupid. Around this calm, self-possessed young woman, he was on unsure footing.
“Be happy, Nefertari,” he said in parting.
TWENTY-SEVEN
The old diplomat was proud to think that he had served his country long and well. His advice had helped three pharaohs make a minimum of foreign policy; he appreciated Seti’s circumspection. It was good to have a leader more concerned with keeping peace than with short-lived military triumphs.
A happy retirement awaited him in Thebes, not far from the temple of Karnak. He would rediscover the family he had so neglected with all his traveling. The last few months of his career had brought him a special pleasure: mentoring the exceptionally gifted Ahsha. He learned quickly and grasped what was essential. When Ahsha returned from the south, after a spectacular success with a delicate information-gathering mission, he had sought out the senior man, seeking guidance. In the end, Ahsha became almost a son to him. Their sessions grew less theoretical; he shared his insider’s knowledge and practical secrets gleaned from years of experience. Sometimes Ahsha arrived at his conclusion even before he did, with an understanding of the international situation that was both pragmatic and visionary.
His secretary announced a visit from Shaanar, who humbly requested a few moments of his time. The Pharaoh’s elder son and heir apparent could not be turned away. Despite his growing fatigue, the high-ranking diplomat received the moon-faced prince, full of his own importance and superiority. The small brown eyes, however, revealed the quick mind behind them. Considering this young man a lightweight would be a disastrous error.
“Your visit is an honor,” said the diplomat.
“I come because of my great admiration for you,” Shaanar said warmly. “It’s no secret that your advice has shaped my father’s Asian policy.”
“That’s an overstatement. Pharaoh makes his own decisions.”
“Based on your reports from the field.”
“Diplomacy is a difficult art. I do my best.”
“With excellent results.”
“When the gods are willing. Would you care for a cup of beer?”
“With pleasure.”
The two men sat in an archway where a cool wind blew in from the north. A gray cat jumped on the old man’s lap, curled up, and went to sleep. A servant poured the light, refreshing beer, then withdrew.
“Yo
u must be surprised that I called on you.”
“A bit, yes.”
“I hope our conversation will remain confidential.”
“Oh, strictly.”
Shaanar paused. The old diplomat was rather amused by this visit. He was used to dealing with favor seekers, yet Shaanar’s respectful attention was flattering.
“From what I hear, you’re planning to retire soon.”
“I’ve said openly that I’ll step down in a year or two, if the king agrees.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Well, I’m starting to feel my age.”
“Too bad that nothing can replace your experience.”
“We have men who can learn from it. I think you know Ahsha? The best young diplomat I’ve ever seen.”
“Is your approval of Seti’s decisions unqualified?”
“Perhaps you could rephrase the question.”
“All right. Is our hostile attitude toward the Hittites still justified?”
“You don’t know the Hittites.”
“They want to trade with us, don’t they?”
“They want to take over Egypt and will never, never stop trying. There is no alternative to the king’s policy of active defense.”
“What if I had another policy?”
“Discuss that with your father, not with me.”
“You’re exactly the person I want to discuss it with.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Provide me with private updates on developments in Asia, and I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. Any facts presented at our council meetings are classified information.”
“Then those are the facts I need.”
“Did you hear me? Impossible.”
“One day I’ll run those meetings. Remember that.”
The diplomat flushed. “Is that a threat?”
“You haven’t retired quite yet. I’d value your experience. My policies will change the world, I promise you. Agree to be my ally behind the scenes, and you won’t regret it.”
The old diplomat rarely lost control of himself, but now he was furious. “I don’t care who you are, what you’re asking is out of the question!” he shouted. “How can you consider betraying the Pharaoh of Egypt—betraying your own father?”
Ramses, Volume I Page 14
