Ramses, Volume I

by Christian Jacq

  For more than two hundred miles between Aswan and the Second Cataract, the convoy progressed calmly, stopping in peaceful villages and distributing goods. This was Wawat, “The Burning One,” an area long ago subdued and settled. So powerful was this country’s appeal that Ramses felt as if he moved in a waking dream.

  He snapped to attention when an incredible sight appeared in the distance. The fortress of Buhen had brick walls thirty feet tall and twelve thick. At each corner of the crenellated battlements was a watchtower from which Egyptian lookouts scanned the Second Cataract and the surrounding region. No Nubian raid could penetrate the line of defensive forts along this border; Buhen was the largest, with three thousand permanent troops and a constant shuttle of couriers.

  Seti and Ramses entered the fortress through the main gate, facing the desert. It was barricaded with two double doors, connected by a wooden bridge; an enemy would have been repelled by a shower of arrows, javelins, and slingshot. Notched embrasures were placed in the wall to allow for deadly crossfire.

  Part of their contingent was already visiting the town that had sprung up at the foot of the fortress, featuring a barracks, trim houses, warehouses, workshops, a market, and a waste disposal system. The troops would enjoy a few hours of leave before heading into Kush, the next province south. Today was a lark.

  The king and his son were welcomed in Buhen’s great hall, which also served as the provincial courtroom. Today, however, the commandant offered his distinguished visitors refreshments, including dates and cool beer.

  “I expected the Viceroy of Nubia,” said Seti.

  “He’ll be arriving soon, Majesty.”

  “I thought this was his residence.”

  “Yes, but he went to assess the situation in Irem, south of the Third Cataract.”

  “The situation . . . an uprising, you mean?”

  The commanding officer’s eyes shifted away from Seti.

  “That’s putting it too strongly.”

  “Would the viceroy travel so far just to arrest a few robbers?”

  “No, Your Majesty, but we monitor the region closely and—”

  “Then why have your reports been underestimating the problem, these past few months?”

  “I tried to remain objective. There’s a little unrest in Irem, true, but—”

  “Two caravan attacks, a well under rebel control, an investigating officer murdered—you call that a little unrest?”

  “We’ve seen worse, Your Majesty.”

  “To be sure, but the ringleaders were caught and punished. This time, you and the viceroy have made no arrests, and the perpetrators think they’ve outsmarted you. They’re putting together a serious revolt.”

  “My role is purely defensive,” protested the commandant. “No Nubian revolt could get past our fortifications.”

  Seti’s anger rose. “Do you suppose we can hand the provinces of Kush and Irem over to rebel forces?”

  “Not for a moment, Your Majesty.”

  “The truth, then.”

  The officer’s spinelessness disgusted Ramses. Cowards like that were unworthy to serve their country. If he were his father, he would have stripped the man of his rank and sent him to the front lines.

  “I thought it served no purpose to alarm our troops. The number of incidents has been so small.”

  “Our losses?”

  “Nonexistent, I hope. The viceroy left with an experienced patrol. The very sight of them will bring the Nubians to their knees.”

  “I’ll wait here three days, no longer. Then I’ll act.”

  “I’m sure it won’t be necessary, Majesty. At least we will have had the opportunity to entertain you! Tonight there’s a small reception . . .”

  “I won’t be there. See that my soldiers are well taken care of.”

  The Second Cataract was unforgiving. The Nile churned between tall cliffs. Narrow channels struggled through huge slabs of basalt and granite, splashing and foaming. At each twist, the rapids gathered more energy. In the distance, ocher sand streaked the red banks, studded with blue boulders. Here and there palms added a hint of green.

  Ramses, watching, felt as if he tumbled along with the river, battled the rocks with it, finally won. Between him and the river there was total communion.

  The little town of Buhen was lighthearted, far removed from a war that no one believed existed. The thirteen Egyptian fortresses would have repelled invaders by the thousands. Besides, a large share of Irem was farmland, which always meant stability. Following the example of pharaohs past, Seti was simply flexing his military muscle to impress the population and reinforce the peace.

  Touring the encampment, Ramses found that none of the soldiers seemed to have fighting on their minds. He observed them napping, feasting, making love to gorgeous Nubian women, playing dice, talking about home—but not sharpening their swords, even though the Viceroy of Nubia had failed to return from his pacifying mission to Irem.

  Ramses made note of the human propensity to fail to prepare for the worst, or even conceive of it. Reality was so unsavory that mirages seemed a safer way out of their shackles. Individual man was both evasive and criminally negligent. The prince vowed he would never shrink from facts, even if they contradicted his hopes. Like the Nile, he would rush up against boulders and come out on the other side.

  At the western edge of the encampment, toward the desert, he saw a crouching figure digging in the sand, as if burying treasure. Intrigued, Ramses approached the man, sword in hand.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shh! Not a sound!” ordered a barely audible voice.

  “Answer me.”

  The man straightened up. “Now you’ve done it! It got away.”

  “Setau! You joined the army?”

  “Of course not! I’m convinced a black cobra was nesting in that hole . . .” Dressed in his strange garment full of pockets, ill-shaven, his dark skin and black hair shining in the moonlight, Setau would hardly be mistaken for a soldier.

  “The best magicians like their venom from Nubian snakes. It works the best, they say. An expedition like this is a godsend!”

  “You’re not afraid of snakes, but what about war?”

  “I don’t smell blood yet. These lamebrained soldiers spend their time stuffing their faces and getting drunk. Probably the least dangerous thing they do.”

  “It won’t stay this calm.”

  “You can read the future?”

  “Do you think Pharaoh would haul this many men to Nubia just for show?”

  “What do I care, as long as I catch some snakes? They’re huge down here, wonderful specimens! Instead of sticking your neck out on the battlefield, you ought to come hunt with me. We’d do well together.”

  “I’m under my father’s orders.”

  “I’m a free agent.” Setau stretched out on the ground and fell fast asleep. He was the only man in Egypt unperturbed by the thought of snakes crawling over him in the night.

  Ramses contemplated the cataract and shared the Nile’s endless strain. The night was just breaking up when he sensed a presence behind him.

  “Did you forget to sleep, son?”

  “I was guarding Setau. Several snakes came up to him, stopped, and then went away. Even in his sleep, he exerts his power. Isn’t it the same for a ruler?”

  “The viceroy is back,” Seti revealed.

  Ramses looked at his father. “Did he pacify Irem?”

  “He ended up with five dead, ten wounded, and beat a hasty retreat. That was about the sum of it. Your friend Ahsha’s predictions were more accurate than I would have hoped. Remarkably observant, and his analysis was solid.”

  “Sometimes he makes me uncomfortable, but he’s brilliant.”

  “Unfortunately, he knew better than my advisers.”

  “Does this mean war?”

  “It does, Ramses. There’s nothing I like less, but Pharaoh can allow no rebellion to go unchecked. Otherwise, it would be the end of the reign of Ma’at, a d
escent into chaos, bringing unhappiness to everyone, mighty or humble. Egypt protects itself against invasion from the north by controlling Canaan and Syria. In the south, there’s Nubia. A king who weakens, like Akhenaton, puts his country in danger.”

  “We’re going to fight?”

  “We’ll hope that the Nubians will listen to reason. Your brother was quite insistent that I sign your commission. He seems to think you have the makings of a soldier. But we face a formidable opponent. Once the Nubians are stirred up, they will fight to the death, ignoring their wounds.”

  “Do you think I’m not ready for combat?”

  “There’s no need to take unnecessary risks.”

  “I want to live up to the trust you’ve placed in me.”

  “Don’t you also want to live?”

  “Keeping my word comes first.”

  “Then fight, if we’re forced to. Fight like a bull, a lion, and a falcon—blaze like lightning. If not, you will be conquered.”

  THIRTY

  Reluctantly, the army left Buhen and pushed beyond the Second Cataract, the safety net of thirteen forts, and on into Kush. The region was pacified, supposedly, but the Nubians were renowned as fighters. It was no great distance to the viceroy’s second residence at the garrison of Shaat, on the island of Sai. A short way downstream, Ramses found another island, Amara, and fell in love with its wild beauty. If there were ever an opportunity, he would ask his father to build a chapel there, a shrine to Nubia’s splendor.

  At Shaat, the men’s carefree attitude vanished. Less strategic than Buhen, the citadel was full of refugees; Irem’s rich farm plain had fallen into rebel hands. Emboldened by their victory and the viceroy’s lack of retaliation, two tribes had passed the Third Cataract and were heading north. The old dream came to life again: regaining control of Kush, driving out the Egyptians, destroying the line of forts.

  Shaat would be the first one in their path.

  Seti ordered the alert to be sounded. Archers in the battlements, catapults in the turrets; in the trenches and at the foot of the high brick walls, the infantry.

  Then Pharaoh and his son, accompanied by a downcast viceroy, were briefed by the garrison commander.

  “The news is grim,” he confessed. “In the last week, the uprising has grown to alarming proportions. Usually the natives are preoccupied with tribal warfare. We never worried about them joining forces against us. Now they have. I sent messengers to Buhen, but . . .” He glanced at the crestfallen viceroy and said no more.

  “Go on,” ordered Seti.

  “We could have nipped it in the bud if we’d moved quickly. Now I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to evacuate the fort.”

  Ramses was stunned to realize how cowardly and ill-prepared most of the border commanders appeared to be.

  “Are the Nubians really so ferocious?” he asked.

  “Wild animals,” the commandant answered. “Death and suffering mean nothing to them. They enjoy fighting and killing. And their war cry! Absolutely bloodcurdling. I wouldn’t blame anyone for running from a Nubian attack.”

  “Running? You mean desertion?”

  “When you see them fight, you’ll understand. Keeping them vastly outnumbered is the only way to subdue them. And right now, we’re not sure whether they number in the hundreds or thousands.”

  “Leave for Buhen with the refugees and take the viceroy with you,” Seti commanded.

  “Should I send reinforcements?”

  “We’ll see; my messengers will keep you informed of the situation. Block the river routes and put all the forts on high alert.”

  The viceroy retreated, still fearing repercussions. The commandant prepared the evacuation. Two hours later, a long column of refugees set off northward. Remaining at the Shaat garrison were Pharaoh, Ramses, and a thousand suddenly somber troops, murmuring that ten thousand bloodthirsty savages were going to overrun the fort and hack every last Egyptian to pieces.

  Seti gave Ramses the task of telling them the truth. The young prince explained facts and discounted rumors. Then he did more: he appealed to their courage, reminded them each of their pledge to protect their country, even if it meant laying down their life. His words were simple and direct. His enthusiasm was catching. Learning that the king’s son would be fighting with them, as one of them, renewed their hope. Ramses’ spirit, along with Seti’s gifts as a strategist, would save them from certain doom.

  The king had decided to advance instead of waiting to be attacked. Engaging the enemy seemed preferable, despite the possibility of retreat in the face of superior numbers. At least it would be settled.

  He spent a long evening poring over maps of the Kush region with Ramses, teaching him how various geographic features were represented. The prince basked in his father’s attention, learning quickly and vowing to remember each detail. No matter what happened, tomorrow would be a glorious day.

  Seti retired to the king’s chamber. Ramses stretched out on a makeshift bed. His dreams of victory were disturbed by muffled exclamations and laughter from the next room. He got up to investigate.

  Lying on his stomach, Setau grunted his appreciation as a giggling Nubian masseuse kneaded his muscular back. Her features could have graced a Theban noblewoman. Her magnificent body was a deep, glowing ebony.

  “She’s fifteen and her name is Lotus,” the snake charmer told him. “She has magic hands. Would you like to try a massage?”

  “No, thanks. She might not be able to resist me.”

  “She even likes snakes! Handles all the most dangerous species. We’ve already harvested a load of venom. I can’t believe my luck! I knew this expedition was a good idea.”

  “Tomorrow the two of you will be guarding the fortress.”

  “You’re attacking?”

  “Advancing.”

  “All right. Lotus and I will be the gatekeepers. And try to catch ten cobras.”

  In the chill of early morning, the foot soldiers had to don their winter tunics, to be removed once the Nubian sun began to shine. Ramses, driving a light chariot, was at the head of the contingent, just behind the scouts. Seti was in the middle of the ranks, guarded by his own special detachment.

  At the sound of trumpeting in the distance, Ramses called the troops to a halt, jumped down from his chariot, and followed the scouts into the desert.

  An enormous beast bellowed in anguish. Thrashing its snakelike snout, it tried to work loose a spear tip. The scouts identified the spear as the southern tribes’ assegai. Ramses recognized the animal as the legendary elephant, long since vanished from the southern borders of Egypt and the Isle of Elephantine where it had roamed. He had never seen a live one.

  “A big bull,” one of the scouts declared. “Those tusks must weigh close to a couple of hundred pounds apiece. Keep clear of him!”

  “But he’s hurt.”

  “The Nubians tried to kill him. We’ve got them on the run.”

  Confrontation grew more imminent. While a scout headed back to inform the king, Ramses approached the elephant. At fifty paces he halted and made eye contact. The wounded animal stopped thrashing and stared back.

  Ramses raised his hands. The big bull waved his trunk as if to show he understood the two-legged creature’s peaceful intentions. The prince slowly drew nearer. One of the scouts opened his mouth to scream, but his neighbor silenced him. With the slightest provocation, the elephant might trample Pharaoh’s son.

  Ramses felt no fear. In the beast’s eyes, he read instant comprehension. A few more steps and he was only an arm’s length from the wounded elephant, its tail thumping its hindquarters. The prince reached out and the elephant lowered its trunk.

  “This will hurt,” he announced. “But it’s the only way I can help you.” Ramses gripped the shaft of the spear. “Will you let me?”

  The huge ears flapped, as if in agreement. The prince yanked the spear tip out on his first try. The beast trumpeted in relief. The scouts stared, aghast. Ramses would never survive. Even now the
elephant was wrapping its bloody trunk around his waist. In a few seconds, the bull would crush him to pieces, then come after them. They’d better run.

  “Look, men, look!”

  The prince’s triumphant voice stopped them. They turned to see him straddling the elephant’s neck, where the wounded trunk had ever so delicately placed him.

  “The view from up here is great,” Ramses laughed. “I can see any move the enemy makes.”

  The prince’s exploit galvanized the army. He must have supernatural powers, they reasoned, to impose his will on the mightiest of all animals. The elephant’s wound was dressed with cloths soaked in oil and honey. The prince and the pachyderm communicated effortlessly. One spoke with his mouth and hands, the other with his trunk and ears. The beast guided them down a beaten path to a village of mud-walled, palm-thatched huts.

  Scattered all around were the bodies of old men, children, and women, some of them speared in the stomach, others with their throats slashed. To one side lay a mutilated heap of adult males who had tried to resist capture. Crops had been burned, livestock slaughtered.

  Ramses felt sick. So this was war, this carnage and boundless cruelty that made man the most feared of predators.

  “Don’t drink the well water!” cried one veteran scout. Two younger men, thirsty from their march, had tried it. Two minutes later they died, screaming in pain. The rebels had poisoned the well to punish the villagers for remaining loyal to Egypt.

  “Can’t do a thing for them,” lamented Setau. “I have a lot to learn about herbal poisons. Good thing I have Lotus to teach me.”

  “What are you doing here?” Ramses asked in amazement. “I thought you were guarding the fort!”

  “Too boring. There’s so much to explore out here!”

  “Massacred villages, for instance?”

  Setau laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Do you see why I prefer snakes? The way they kill is nobler, and their venom is strong medicine.”

  “There’s more to mankind than this horror.”

  “Are you so sure?”

  “Ma’at is on one side, chaos on the other. We’re put on earth to do Ma’at’s work and fight evil, time after time.”