“Please calm down.”
“I won’t calm down! This is outrageous behavior from a future ruler. Your father will hear about it.”
“That wouldn’t be wise.”
“Get out of here!” he yelled, turning almost purple.
“Are you forgetting who I am?”
“I wish I could!”
“Not a word to anyone,” Shaanar demanded.
“Don’t count on it.”
“In that case, I’ll have to keep you from talking.”
“Whatever do you—”
Gasping, the old diplomat clutched his chest and collapsed. Shaanar quickly summoned his servants. They laid him out on a couch and ran for a doctor, who pronounced him dead of a massive heart attack.
Shaanar had been lucky: a risky step, but a satisfying outcome.
Iset the Fair was sulking.
She refused to set foot outside her parents’ home or admit Ramses to see her. Fatigue, she claimed, had ruined her complexion. This time she would make Ramses pay for his sudden disappearance and long absence. From behind an upstairs drapery, she eavesdropped on Ramses and her maid.
“Please give your mistress my wishes for a speedy recovery,” said Ramses, “and tell her I won’t be back.”
“No!” cried Iset. She threw back the curtain, flew down the stairs and into Ramses’ arms.
“I’d say you’re looking fine,” he told her.
“Don’t go away again or I really will get sick.”
“Do you want me to go against orders from the king?”
“Those dull old expeditions . . . my life is so hard without you.”
“You can’t go anywhere, I suppose.”
“Of course I go out, but all the men are after me. So tiresome. With you around, they wouldn’t bother me.”
“Would a little souvenir make you feel better?” Ramses produced a small box. Iset’s eyes grew wide in astonishment.
“Open it.”
“Is that an order?”
“Leave it closed, then.”
Iset the Fair lifted the lid and caught her breath in admiration. “For me?”
“By permission of the head of the expedition.”
She kissed him fervently. “Put it on for me.”
Ramses did as he was told. The turquoise necklace made Iset’s green eyes sparkle with pleasure. She was truly the fairest of them all.
Ahmeni stubbornly pursued his search of the city dumps, undeterred by the prospect of failure. The night before, he thought he might have found some new pieces of the puzzle, connecting the address of the workshop to the name of the owner, but in the end there was not enough to go on. The words were faded, with letters missing.
His time-consuming investigation did not interfere with his work as Ramses’ private secretary. He performed his tasks flawlessly. The prince was receiving more and more mail every day. Each piece had to be answered promptly and in carefully chosen language. Concerned with maintaining the prince’s impeccable reputation as a royal scribe, he had put the finishing touches on the official report of the Serabit el-Khadim expedition.
“You’re making a name for yourself,” Ramses remarked.
“I’m not interested in gossip.”
“People say you deserve a better job.”
“I took a vow to serve you.”
“Think about your career, Ahmeni.”
“I’m exactly where I want to be.”
The prince sometimes felt unworthy of Ahmeni’s loyalty and friendship, which he counted among his blessings. His friend always forced him to seek a higher standard.
“Any breaks in your investigation?”
“No, but I’m not giving up. What about yours?”
“My mother did all she could, but the trail’s gone cold again.”
“There’s a name that nobody will say out loud.”
“And maybe they shouldn’t. Slander is a serious offense.”
“You’re talking sense. I like that. You know, every day you seem more like Seti.”
“I’m his son.”
“So is Shaanar . . . but it’s hard to believe that you come from the same family.”
Ramses paced nervously. Moses, all set to go back to his job at Merur, had just been summoned to the palace. There was no complaint about his role in the mining expedition; in fact, both the miners and soldiers had said how well he ran the operation and hoped his work would serve as an example. Still, infighting and back-stabbing were always a possibility; perhaps Moses’ popularity reflected badly on someone higher up.
Ahmeni wrote on, unflappable.
“Aren’t you worried?”
“Not for Moses. He’s cut from the same cloth as you. The harder you test him, the stronger he gets.”
Ramses wasn’t reassured. Moses was so assertive that he easily inspired jealousy rather than admiration.
“Instead of fretting,” Ahmeni advised, “why don’t you read the latest royal decrees?”
The prince began to go through them, but had difficulty concentrating. He kept jumping up to walk around the terrace.
Shortly before noon, he saw Moses emerge from a nearby government building. Unable to wait a moment longer, Ramses bolted down the stairs to meet him.
His friend looked perplexed.
“Out with it!” said Ramses.
“I’ve been offered a post in the royal construction corps.”
“No more Merur?”
“No, I’d be building palaces and temples, going from site to site as an overseer, working with the project supervisor.”
“Are you going to take it?”
“Doesn’t it sound better than watching the grass grow at the harem?”
“Then it’s a promotion! Ahsha is in town and so is Setau. We’re going out tonight.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
The five old classmates celebrated. Dancing girls, dinner, wine, dessert—a nearly perfect evening. Setau told a few snake stories and revealed his foolproof formula for meeting women: he would slip a snake into their private chamber, then come to the rescue. Somewhat unethical, he admitted, but it certainly saved time.
Each of them talked about where he was headed. Moses had his new assignment; the other four would stay with their chosen careers. There would be so much to talk about the next time they met!
Setau was the first to leave, with a doe-eyed Nubian dancer. Moses had to get a few hours’ sleep before his journey to Karnak, where Seti was building on a grand scale. Ahmeni, unaccustomed to drinking, dozed in a nest of cushions. The night was fragrant.
“It’s strange,” Ahsha said to Ramses, “the city seems so peaceful.”
“Why would it be any other way?”
“Travel like I do and you’ll see. We’re not as safe as we think. To both the north and the south we have aggressive neighbors who’d jump at the chance to take over our nice, rich country.”
“The Hittites to the north, of course; but what about the south?”
“Don’t forget the Nubians.”
“But they’ve been under our domination forever.”
“That’s what I thought, until I was sent there on a fact-finding mission. People opened up to me, and the picture that emerged was quite different from the official version of our relations.”
“You’re being enigmatic.”
Aristocratic Ahsha did not seem cut out for long journeys through inhospitable countries. However, his breeding served him. Always even-tempered, he kept a cool head in the most trying situations. His inner resources and quick thinking surprised those who chanced to underestimate him. Ramses suddenly realized that from now on he would give serious consideration to any opinion Ahsha offered. His elegant facade was misleading. Beneath it was a tough-minded, confident individual.
“Does the term state secrets mean anything to you?”
“Your specialty,” said Ramses ironically.
“This one concerns you directly. As your friend, I think you deserve to hear it a few hours ahead of Sh
aanar. Tomorrow morning, he’ll be called to a special meeting of the Pharaoh’s advisory council.”
“Are you breaking your word just to help me?”
“I’m not betraying my country, because I’m sure you have a role in what’s about to happen.”
“Explain.”
“I’ve already hinted that I think there’s trouble in Nubia. Not the experts’ opinion, but we shall see. I don’t mean isolated protests, but a genuine uprising leading to significant casualties—unless the Egyptian army moves quickly to crush it.”
Ramses was dumbfounded.
“An incredible theory. They’ll never believe it.”
“I wrote a report, stating my arguments point by point, with facts to back them up. I’m no soothsayer, just an accurate observer.”
“The Viceroy of Nubia and his generals will say you’re mad!”
“Certainly. But Pharaoh and his council will read my report.”
“Why should they agree with your conclusions?”
“Because they reflect the truth, and the truth is what guides our sovereign, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“I do, but . . .”
“Then believe me and prepare yourself.”
“For what?”
“When Pharaoh decides to put down the revolt, he’ll want to take one of his sons with him. It’s your turn this time—the chance you’ve dreamed of to prove yourself as a soldier.”
“And if you’re wrong—”
“Not a chance. Be at the palace tomorrow morning. Early.”
The council meeting caused a stir in the usually quiet wing of the palace Seti chose for it. It was composed of the “Nine Friends of Pharaoh,” along with some generals and a few high officials; usually, the king simply met with his vizier and selected matters for his own further study. Now, without any hint of trouble in the air, a special meeting of the broader council had been called.
Ramses approached the vizier’s assistant and requested an audience with Pharaoh. He was asked to wait. Since Seti never wasted words, the prince thought the proceedings would be brief; such was not the case. The meeting ran through lunchtime and well into the afternoon, which was most unusual. It could only mean that opposing viewpoints were being debated, and the king would hear all sides before determining his course.
As the day edged toward sunset, the Nine Friends left the council room, looking grave. Behind them came the generals. A quarter-hour later, the vizier’s assistant fetched Ramses.
He was led in to see not Seti, but Shaanar.
“I wish to see Pharaoh.”
“He’s busy. What can I do for you?”
“I’ll come back later.”
“I’m authorized to act on Pharaoh’s behalf. If you refuse to speak to me, I’ll report you. Our father won’t be happy. You keep forgetting the respect you owe me.”
The threat failed to deter Ramses. He was in this game for good.
“We’re brothers, Shaanar. Have you forgotten?”
“But our positions . . .”
“That’s no reason we can’t be closer.”
Confused, Shaanar lowered his voice. “Of course not . . . but you’re so impulsive, so headstrong—”
“You go your way and I’ll go mine. I have no more delusions of grandeur.”
“What . . . which way is it that you’re going?”
“The army.”
Shaanar rubbed his chin. “That will be perfect for you . . . Now why did you want to see Pharaoh?”
“I want to fight for him in Nubia.”
“Where did you hear about a war in Nubia?” Shaanar asked, appearing startled.
Ramses was cool. “I’m a royal scribe and an infantry officer. What I lack is combat experience. Give me a chance, Shaanar.”
Shaanar rose, paced the room, returned to his seat.
“Don’t count on it.”
“Why not?”
“Too dangerous.”
“Do you fear for my safety?”
“A prince of the blood must not take unfounded risks.”
“Then why does Pharaoh march at the head of the army?”
“Enough, Ramses. It’s no place for you.”
“It is!”
“My decision is final.”
“I’ll appeal it to Father.”
“Don’t cause trouble, Ramses. The country has problems enough without a breach in protocol.”
“Don’t you get tired of standing in my way, Shaanar?”
The heir apparent’s moon face hardened.
“What are you implying?”
“Will you sign my commission?”
“That’s up to the king.”
“You can recommend it.”
“I need to think.”
“Think fast.”
Ahsha studied the office. A good-sized room, two well-placed windows to keep the air circulating, walls and ceiling decorated with floral borders and a pattern of red and blue. Several chairs, a low table, well-woven mats, storage chests, a papyrus cupboard. Yes, his new State Department office was quite satisfactory, at least at this stage. Most men his age would be content with far less.
Ahsha dictated letters to his secretary and welcomed co-workers curious to meet this boy wonder. His final visitor was Shaanar, always on the lookout for new contacts in the department.
“A corner office,” the prince remarked.
“I consider myself fortunate.”
“The king was most impressed with your report on Nubia.”
“May my every effort please His Royal Highness.”
Shaanar shut the door to the office and spoke confidentially. “I’m also most impressed with your work. Ramses fell for it! He can’t wait to march off to war! Naturally, to tantalize him I refused at first, then gave in little by little.”
“Does he have his commission?”
“Pharaoh will agree to take him along, and Nubia will be his first engagement. Ramses doesn’t realize the Nubians are ferocious fighters and it may turn out to be a bloodletting. His trip to the turquoise mines has him convinced he’s a warrior. On his own, he never would have insisted on going to Nubia. We have him right where we want him now, don’t we?”
“I hope so.”
“And what about you, Ahsha? I take care of my friends, and you’re doing brilliantly. A little patience, two or three more first-rate reports and reviews, and you’re headed for the top.”
“My only ambition is to serve my country.”
“Mine, too, of course. But the higher up you are in the State Department, the more effective you can be. Do you have any interest in Asia?”
“The prime focus of our diplomatic efforts?”
“Egypt needs professionals of your caliber. Learn all you can, then be my eyes and ears. You won’t regret it.”
Ahsha bowed to his prince.
Although the Egyptian people disliked armed conflict, they were not upset by Seti’s departure for Nubia. How could the black tribes resist a powerful and well-organized army? The expedition was closer to a police operation than a real war. The unrest would be firmly quelled, the rebels dispersed, and Nubia would come back into the fold.
Thanks to Ahsha’s alarmist report, Shaanar knew that the Egyptians would meet with considerable resistance. Ramses would try to prove his valor with youthful abandon. Historically, Nubian arrows and war axes had cut short the career of many unwary young soldiers, convinced of their superiority. With any luck, the same failing would be Ramses’ downfall.
Life could not be better. Shaanar had his pawns lined up in winning position. Pharaoh had more work than he could do without damaging his health. In the near future he would be obliged to name his older son as co-regent and give him more decision-making power. Self-control, patience, and working behind the scenes: those were the keys to success.
Ahmeni ran toward the harbor; unused to exercise, he moved slowly and found it hard to elbow his way through the crowd that had gathered to see off the expedition. The waste dump he had j
ust finished exploring had yielded an important, perhaps even crucial, clue.
His rank as Ramses’ secretary got him behind the security line. Panting, he reached the pier.
“The prince’s boat?”
“There,” an officer answered, pointing far down the Nile.
TWENTY-NINE
Leaving Memphis on the twenty-fourth day of the second month of the winter season, in Year Eight of Seti’s reign, the Egyptian army moved swiftly southward. At Aswan, they disembarked and reembarked below the boulders of the First Cataract. At this time of year, the Nile was high enough to get them through the more dangerous channels, but Pharaoh preferred using boats equipped for the final stage of the river voyage to Nubia.
Ramses was enchanted. Commissioned as the expedition’s scribe, he was under his father’s direct command and traveled on the same ship. Its bow and stern curved upward, well out of the water. Two rudders, one to port, one to starboard, made for quick handling. From the single stout mast, one huge sail puffed out in the north wind as the sailors worked the ropes.
In the center of the vessel was a large cabin divided into berths and working quarters. Smaller cabins for the captain and two steersmen were found near the two ends of the boat. The royal vessel, like the rest of the fleet, was a lively, happy place. The sailors and soldiers felt it was almost a pleasure cruise, and their officers played along. They were all acquainted with the king’s directives: no attacks on civilians, no forced enlistment, no arbitrary arrests. A military convoy should inspire fear and enforce respect for the established order, but must never become synonymous with terror and pillage. Any member of the expedition failing to obey the honor code would be severely punished.
Nubia fascinated Ramses. He spent the river voyage glued to the bow. Parched hills, isles of granite, a thin band of green at the desert’s edge, a deep blue sky: a stunning land of fire and absolutes. Cows lazed on the riverbanks, hippopotami in the water. There were crested cranes, pink flamingos, swallows diving over palm trees where baboons scampered. Ramses felt at home in this wild place. It was like him, burning, unquenchable.
Ramses, Volume I Page 15
