Night was falling on Karnak. The workmen had laid down their tools; the site was empty. In less than an hour, astronomers and astrologers would climb up to the temple roof to look for messages in the stars.
“What is a pharaoh?” Seti asked Ramses.
“The happiness of his people.”
“To that end, do not seek human happiness, but act in a way that benefits the gods and the sacred principle of creation. Build temples reflecting the divine and offer them to their heavenly master. Your quest must be for the essential. The rest will fall into place.”
“The essential, meaning Ma’at?”
“Ma’at gives direction. She is the rudder of the ship of state, the base of the throne, the perfect measure, the source of rectitude. Without her, nothing just can be accomplished.”
“Father . . .”
“What worries you so?”
“Will I be equal to my task?”
“If you cannot rise to it, you will be crushed. The world cannot remain in balance without Pharaoh’s acts, his word, the rites he celebrates. If the rule of the pharaohs ever falters, because of human stupidity and greed, Ma’at will no longer prevail and the earth will once again be plunged in darkness. Man will destroy everything around him, including his fellow man; the strong will crush the weak, injustice will triumph, violence and ugliness will flourish. The sun will no longer rise, even if his golden disk remains in the sky. Left on his own, man tends toward evil; Pharaoh’s role is to straighten the twisted bough, to work toward bringing order out of chaos. Any other form of government is doomed to failure.”
Insatiable, Ramses asked his father a thousand questions; the king evaded none of them. It was well into the warm summer night when the regent lay down on a long stone bench, his heart full, his eyes searching the starry heavens.
Seti’s order officially opened the ritual celebration of the feast of Opet. Priests brought out the sacred barks of the Theban trinity: Amon the hidden god, Mut the cosmic mother, and their son Khonsu, incarnated by Ramses. Before they left the temple, Seti and his son placed bouquets of flowers on the divine vessels and poured a drink in their honor. Then the barks were covered with cloth for the procession, so that profane eyes could view them, yet not see them.
On this nineteenth day of the second month of the season of floods, a sizable crowd had gathered on the outskirts of the temple of Karnak. When the huge gilded doors parted to make way for the procession the king and his son were to lead, cheers filled the air. The gods were present on earth. It would be a good year.
There would be two processions. One took the overland route, following the Way of the Sphinx from Karnak to Luxor. The second would sail the Nile between the two temple landings. All eyes would be on the royal bark, covered with gold and precious stones, dazzling in the sunlight. Seti himself headed the flotilla, while Ramses walked the road bordered by protective sphinxes.
Acrobats and dancers moved to the sound of trumpets, flutes, tambourines, sistra, and lutes. On the banks of the Nile there were food stands, with beer to wash down snacks of grilled fowl, cakes, and fruit.
Ramses tried to ignore the commotion and concentrate on his ritual role: leading the gods to Luxor, the temple where the royal ka was renewed. The procession stopped at several shrines to leave offerings. Slow but sure, it arrived at the doors of Luxor at the same time as Seti.
The barks of the gods entered the temple building, where the throng was not allowed to follow. While outside the feasting continued, inside the temple it was time for the ritual rebirth of the hidden force that was the basis of all life. For eleven straight days, in the Holy of Holies, the three sacred barks would be recharged with new power.
The priestesses of Amon danced, sang, and played instruments. The sacred dancers had long hair and firm breasts; anointed with labdanum and scented with lotus, wearing woven crowns of fragrant reeds, they moved solemnly and with a compelling charm.
Among the lute players sat Nefertari, a little apart from the others, intent on her music and seemingly aloof from the outside world. How could such a young girl be so serious? Attempting to go unnoticed, she only called attention to herself. Ramses tried to catch her eye, but her blue-green gaze was focused on the lute strings. No matter how she sat, Nefertari could not conceal her beauty. She outshone all the other celebrants, attractive as they were.
Finally silence fell. The temple musicians went off, some of them satisfied with their performance, others eager to exchange impressions. Nefertari remained collected, as if she wished to let the ceremony echo deep inside her.
The prince regent watched until her slim silhouette, clad in spotless white, withdrew into the blinding summer sunlight.
THIRTY-SIX
Iset the Fair snuggled against Ramses and sang a familiar love song: Why am I not your servant, following behind? I could dress and undress you, be the hand that combs your hair and bathes you. Why am I not the one who washes your dress and rubs you with perfumed oils, why am I not your bracelets and the jewels that touch your skin and know your scent?
“Those are the verses the lover sings, not his mistress,” Ramses told her.
“No matter. I want you to hear them over and over.”
Iset the Fair managed to combine tenderness and abandon in her lovemaking. Her bold, inventive young body amazed and delighted him with endless new games.
“I wouldn’t care whether you were prince regent or a poor farmer! It’s you I love, your strength, your beauty.”
Iset’s sincerity and passion touched Ramses. Her eyes were clear and honest. He answered her naked need with his sixteen-year-old’s ardor, until they reverberated with pleasure.
“Give it up,” she suggested.
“What?”
“Being crown prince, your future as Pharaoh. Give it up, Ramses, and we can be happy.”
“When I was younger, I wanted to be king, so badly I couldn’t sleep. Then my father showed me it was an unreasonable ambition, madness, in fact. I gave up the whole idea. Now Seti has made me heir apparent . . . it’s like a river of fire roaring through my life, and I’m not sure where it’s leading.”
“Then don’t jump in. Stay safe on the riverbank.”
“Am I free to choose?”
“Trust me to help you.”
“No matter what you do for me, I’m alone.”
Tears streamed down Iset’s cheeks. “You mustn’t think that! Together you and I can take on the world.”
“I can’t refuse my father.”
“At least don’t abandon me.”
Iset the Fair knew better than to mention marriage. If necessary, she would let things remain as they were.
Setau handled the regent’s crown and uraeus gingerly, as an amused Ramses looked on.
“Does that snake scare you, Setau?”
“I have no cure for its bite, and there’s no antivenom.”
“Are you, too, going to tell me I shouldn’t be regent?”
“I’m not the only one who thinks so?”
“Iset the Fair would prefer a less public existence.”
“Who can blame her?”
“And you, with your taste for adventure? You’re preaching the quiet life?”
“The road you’re heading down is dangerous.”
“We all promised one another to try and find our true calling. You risk your life every day. Why should I be timid?”
“I only handle reptiles. You’ll have to deal with men, a much more lethal species.”
“Can I count on you to work with me?”
“I’d make a strange adviser for a regent . . .”
“I trust Ahmeni and you.”
“What about Moses?”
“He needs to go his own way, but I’m sure that one day the two of us will build wonderful temples.”
“And Ahsha?”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“I’m honored by your offer, but I decline. Did I mention that I’m marrying Lotus? Entanglements are trouble, I agre
e, but she’s an assistant I can’t afford to lose. Good luck, Ramses.”
Within less than a month, Shaanar had lost half his friends. His situation, then, was far from desperate; he had expected almost total desertion, but quite a number of influential people had no faith in Ramses, despite Seti’s proclamation. When the Pharaoh died, perhaps his regent would realize he was in over his head and step aside in favor of a more experienced man.
An injustice had been done him, Shaanar felt. He was the older son, he had been brushed callously aside without the least word of explanation. How had Ramses worked his way into Seti’s good graces, if not by slandering his older brother?
There was a certain satisfaction in passing as a victim. He would make careful use of this unexpected advantage, slowly feeding the rumor mill and positioning himself as a sane alternative to Ramses’ excesses. The plan would take time, a great deal of time, and require inside knowledge of the opposition. Shaanar’s first step would be to request an audience with the prince regent in his new quarters, near the Pharaoh’s in the main building of the royal palace.
He would have to get past Ahmeni, Ramses’ henchman. Was there any way to tempt him? He cared nothing for women nor for revelry, spent all his time toiling away in his office, and had no apparent ambition outside of serving Ramses. However, every man had a chink in his armor, and Shaanar was confident he could identify Ahmeni’s.
He addressed the regent’s sandal-bearer deferentially and praised his organizational skills, with twenty scribes busily carrying out his orders in this new establishment. Immune to flattery, Ahmeni wasted no compliments on Shaanar, merely showing him in to the prince’s reception room.
Sitting on the steps to a platform where a throne sat, Ramses was playing with his dog and nearly grown lion cub. The two animals were a happy pair; the lion curbed his strength, the dog refrained from teasing. Watcher had even taught the cub how to filch meat from the palace kitchens, and no one got near the dog without Fighter’s approval.
Shaanar was aghast. A poor excuse for a crown prince! This muscle-bound boy, wrestling with his pets—how could he be next in line to the throne? Seti had made a horrible mistake. Seething with indignation, Shaanar controlled himself with some effort.
“I beg leave to address His Excellency.”
“Such high-flown language! Come and sit down, Shaanar.”
The yellow dog had rolled on his back, begging, in a show of submission to Fighter. Ramses admired the ruse. The lion never noticed how Watcher ran the show and orchestrated all their games. Observing them taught the prince a great deal: they symbolized the joined forces of strength and intelligence.
Hesitantly, Shaanar sat down on a step some distance from his brother. The lion growled.
“Don’t be afraid. He won’t attack unless I tell him to.”
“The beast is becoming dangerous. Suppose it wounded a state visitor . . .”
“Not a chance.”
The animals stopped their game and watched Shaanar, resenting the intrusion.
“I’ve come to offer you my services.”
“I thank you kindly.”
“What do you have in mind for me?”
“I have no experience of public life or the workings of government. How could I be sure of assigning you the correct role?”
“But you’re the regent!”
“Seti is the sole master of Egypt. He and he alone makes the essential decisions. He has no need of my opinion to govern.”
“But . . .”
“I’m the first to admit my incompetence and I have no intention of pretending I’m in charge. My job, as I see it, will always be to serve the king and obey him.”
“You’ll have to take some initiative.”
“Not if it goes against Pharaoh. I’ll do the work he gives me and try my hardest. If I fail, he’ll dismiss me from my duties and name another regent.”
Shaanar was nonplussed. He had expected arrogance and swagger, and instead met with meekness and servility. Had Ramses grown more cunning, was this all an act intended to throw his opponent off base? There was one simple way to find out.
“I suppose you’ve become acquainted with the hierarchy.”
“It would take me months, if not years, to figure out the fine points. Is it really indispensable? Ahmeni will take the administrative details off my hands, so I can spend time with my pets.”
There was nothing ironic in Ramses’ tone. He seemed incapable of understanding the scope of his power. Ahmeni, gifted and industrious as he might be, was only a seventeen-year-old scribe; the inner workings of the court would not be an open book to him. Rejecting the help of more experienced men, Ramses would appear a flighty outsider.
Where Shaanar had feared open warfare, he found smooth sailing.
“I thought Pharaoh might have given you some directives concerning me.”
“You’re right.”
Shaanar stiffened. At last, the moment of truth! Ramses had been putting on a show and now would deal his brother the blow excluding him from public life for good.
“What are Pharaoh’s wishes?”
“For his elder son to carry out his duties as before and for him to become chief of protocol.”
Chief of protocol . . . a plum appointment. Shaanar would organize official ceremonies, see that decrees were carried out, and be intimately involved in royal policymaking. Far from being excluded, he would be in a key position, even if it did have a lower profile than the regent’s. With what he already knew, he could weave himself a nice, solid web.
“Will I be reporting to you, brother?”
“No, directly to Pharaoh. I wouldn’t be able to evaluate your performance.”
He knew it! Ramses was only a sham regent. Seti would still rule with an iron hand and continue to rely on his firstborn son.
In the center of the holy city of Heliopolis stood the immense temple of Ra, the god of divine light who had created life. In November, as the nights grew cool, the priests were preparing for the festivals honoring Osiris, the hidden face of Ra.
“You know Memphis and Thebes now,” Seti told Ramses. “It’s time for you to see Heliopolis, where our ancestors’ guiding philosophy took shape. Do not neglect to honor this holy place; at times, too much emphasis is placed on Thebes. Ramses, the founder of our dynasty, advocated that power be divided equally among the high priests of Heliopolis, Memphis, and Thebes. I have respected his vision, and you should do so as well. Submit to no single dignitary, but be the link that connects and controls them all.”
“I find myself thinking of Set’s city, Avaris,” Ramses confessed.
“If it is your fate to become a pharaoh, you will return there to commune with the secret power when I am dead.”
“You’ll never die!”
The words burst out of him, so heartfelt that Seti’s lips curved in a smile.
“Perhaps not, if I am so fortunate as to have a successor who maintains my ka.”
Seti led Ramses into the sanctuary of the great temple of Ra. In the center of a courtyard rose a mighty obelisk, its golden tip glinting toward the sky to ward off evil influences.
“This monument symbolizes the primordial stone emerging from the original ocean at the dawn of time. It anchors the sacred principle of creation on this earth.”
Still in shock, Ramses was next led toward a giant acacia where two priestesses worshiped, dressed as Isis and Nephtys.
“This tree,” explained Seti, “is where the invisible powers conceive a pharaoh, nurse him on star milk, and choose his name.”
There were more surprises in store. The next thing the crown prince saw was a scale made of gold and silver. On a stuccoed wooden base, it was seven feet tall with a span of six feet. On top sat a golden baboon representing the god Thoth, master of hieroglyphs and measurement.
“The scale of Heliopolis weighs the heart and soul of every being, every entity. It is the symbol of Ma’at. May your thoughts and acts be inspired by her always.”
/> At the close of their day in the city of light, Seti took Ramses to a construction site where the workers had left for the day.
“A new chapel is being built here, for sacred places must always be under construction. Building temples is a pharaoh’s first responsibility. Through them, he will build his people. Kneel down, Ramses, and lay your first stone.”
Seti handed his son a mallet and chisel. Beneath the soaring obelisk, beneath his father’s watchful gaze, the prince regent cut the chapel’s cornerstone.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Ahmeni had a boundless admiration for Ramses, but acknowledged his faults. For one, he was too quick to forgive; for another, he too easily forgot important matters that concerned him, like the mystery of the counterfeit ink cakes. The crown prince’s sandal-bearer, however, had a long memory. His new position had certain prerogatives, and he exploited them.
His twenty employees sat cross-legged on reed mats, in the classic scribe’s position, as he outlined the case, then filled in every detail as he knew it. Although Ahmeni was not much of a speaker, they were spellbound.
“The next step?” asked one of the new scribes.
“We have better access to the archives now. Somewhere there has to be a copy of the original document giving the full name of the workshop’s owner. I’ll assign each of you to a section. Whoever finds the information should bring it here without delay and without a word to anyone. There will be a reward from the regent.”
An investigation of this scope would have to succeed eventually. When he had concrete proof, he would take it to Ramses. Once the case of the ink scam was settled, Ahmeni would convince him to try again to track down the mastermind who had hired the two hit men. No crime so serious should go unpunished.
Ramses, Volume I Page 20
