Ramses, Volume I

by Christian Jacq

  “Are you certain of this information?”

  “Alas, yes. Ordinarily, a relay of messages keeps me informed of an expedition’s progress, problems it encounters, even its failure. For several days now there has been no news whatsoever.”

  “Has this never happened before?”

  “Yes, in times of trouble.”

  “A Bedouin attack?”

  “Highly unlikely in the area in question. The police patrol it aggressively.”

  “Unlikely, but not unheard of ?”

  “No known tribe could have interfered with the expedition to the point of reducing it to silence. A squadron of experienced policemen was guarding the prospectors.”

  “What’s your theory?”

  “I have none, but I am very worried.”

  Gold from the deserts was used in decorating temples. Called “flesh of the gods,” this enduring metal symbolized eternal life and gave a peerless brilliance to the temple artists’ work. Gold was also important to the government as a means of payment for certain imports or as a diplomatic peace offering to foreign rulers. No disturbance in mining operations could be tolerated.

  “What are your recommendations?”

  “Acting without delay and sending in the army.”

  “I’ll take command,” announced Seti, “and the prince regent will go with me.”

  The council approved the decision. Shaanar, who had made sure to say nothing, encouraged his brother and promised to start work on the government watchdog program they would implement as soon as Ramses returned.

  In the Year Nine of Seti’s reign, on the twentieth day of the third month of the year, the expeditionary force of four hundred soldiers, commanded by Pharaoh in person and his son and heir, marched through the blazing desert north of the town of Edfu and some sixty miles south of the trail to the quarries of Wadi Hammamat. They were nearing Wadi Mia, from where the prospectors had sent their last message to Memphis.

  The message had been unremarkable. The expedition’s morale seemed to be high, their health holding up well. The recording scribe reported nothing out of the ordinary.

  Seti maintained his troops on alert, night and day. Despite reassurances from the desert patrol chief, who rode along with them and had brought a handpicked squadron, the king feared a surprise attack from Bedouins sweeping down from the Sinai peninsula. Pillage and murder were the order of the day with them; whipped into a sudden frenzy, their chiefs were capable of the worst barbarities.

  “What are you sensing, Ramses?”

  “The desert is magnificent, but I feel uneasy.”

  “What do you see there, beyond the dunes?”

  The prince concentrated. Seti’s face wore the same strange, almost supernatural expression as when he had found the new veins of granite at Aswan.

  “My view is blocked. I see nothing but a blank.”

  “Yes, emptiness. The emptiness of an awful death.”

  Ramses shivered.

  “Bedouins?”

  “No, a more insidious and far more pitiless assailant.”

  “Should we prepare for combat?”

  “No use.”

  Ramses mastered his fear, although it nearly choked him. What attack had befallen the gold-mining expedition? If there were spirit monsters in the desert, as most of the soldiers believed, no human army could overcome the winged beasts and their long, curved claws that tore a man to shreds without even giving him time to react.

  Before scaling the sand dune, the horses, donkeys, and men stopped to drink. The desert heat necessitated frequent rest stops, and their water supply would soon be depleted. They were less than two miles from one of the region’s main wells, where they could refill their water skins.

  Three hours before sunset, they set off again, crossing the dune without difficulty. Soon the well was in view. The stone housing was set into a mountainside, and deep within the mountain, there was gold.

  The prospectors and their armed guards had not disappeared at all. They were there in plain sight, in the burning sand around the well, lying prone or exposed to the sun, with black, blood-tinged tongues protruding.

  Not one had survived.

  If not for the Pharaoh, most of the soldiers would have bolted in horror. Seti gave the order to set up the tents and mount a guard, as if the encampment were under threat of an imminent attack. Then he had graves dug for the ill-fated prospectors and their escort. Their sleeping mats would serve as shrouds, the king himself would say the prayers for the dead, the prayers for resurrection.

  The funeral rites, in the peace of the desert sunset, calmed the soldiers. The medical officer then approached Seti.

  “Cause of death?”

  “Thirst, Your Majesty.”

  The king immediately headed for the entrance to the well, which was being patrolled by his personal guardsmen. In the encampment, the men had been hoping for cool, refreshing water.

  The large well was filled to the rim with stones.

  “Let’s empty it,” suggested Ramses.

  Seti agreed. His guardsmen went to work: it was better not to alarm the main detachment. The relay they organized was remarkably efficient. Ramses set the pace and kept up their sometimes flagging spirits.

  When the full moon shone on the bottom of the well, the elite troops, exhausted, watched the crown prince lower a heavy jar with a rope. Despite the suspense, he maneuvered the jar slowly, taking care not to break it.

  Hoisting the filled jar, the regent presented it to the king, who sniffed the water, but did not drink it.

  “Let one of you go down into the well.”

  Ramses tied the rope under his armpits, made a solid knot, and asked four soldiers to hold tight to the end. Then he straddled the rim and used stone toeholds to climb down inside. It was quite simple. Six feet above water level, the moonlight gave him a clear view of several floating donkey cadavers. Shuddering, he climbed back to the top.

  “The well is polluted,” he murmured.

  Seti emptied the water jar into the sand.

  “Our countrymen were poisoned drinking water from this well; then the small group of assassins, probably Bedouins, finished them off with rocks.”

  Now the king, the regent, and every member of their own expedition would also perish. Even if they departed that very moment for the Valley, they would die of thirst before reaching arable land.

  This time the trap was a tight one.

  “Let’s get some sleep,” ordered Seti. “I’ll pray to our mother, the starry sky.”

  At dawn, the news of their situation spread. No soldier would be allowed to refill his bone-dry water skin.

  One man loudly tried to incite his comrades. Ramses blocked his path. Panicking, the foot soldier swung at the prince, who blocked his punch and held him by the wrist until one knee was on the ground.

  “Losing your head will only hasten your death, soldier.”

  “There’s no more water . . .”

  “Pharaoh is among us; we have hope.”

  The men made no further move to revolt. Ramses addressed them: “We have a map of the region, a classified document, showing secondary trails that lead to old wells, some of which may still be viable. While Pharaoh remains with you, I will explore these trails and bring back enough water to see us halfway home. Our strength and our courage will do the rest. In the meantime, stay out of the sun and take care not to waste your energy.”

  Ramses left with ten men and six donkeys, water skins strung on their saddles. One prudent veteran had saved a small part of his ration. After wetting their lips with morning dew, the exploratory force was given his last few swallows.

  Before long, each step they took was a source of pain. The heat and dust scorched their lungs. But Ramses marched steadily, fearing that otherwise they would all falter. Their only thought must be of a freshwater well.

  The first trail shown on the map had been buried in the sand. Continuing the same direction would have been suicidal. The second track dead-ended
at a dry riverbed; the mapmaker had done his job poorly. The third track took them to an empty circle of weathered stones. The men ran up and collapsed at the rim of the well, long since filled in with sand.

  The top secret map was a joke. Ten years earlier, it might have been accurate. Some lazy scribe had simply made a copy, without checking its validity. Then another scribe had copied his work.

  Reporting back to Seti, Ramses wasted no time in explanation. His crestfallen face spoke for him.

  The soldiers had not drunk a single drop for the last six hours. The king addressed his officers.

  “The sun is at its highest point,” he noted. “Ramses and I will go to look for water. When the shadows begin to lengthen, I will be back.”

  Seti climbed the hill. Despite his youth, Ramses at first found it hard to keep up. Then he imitated his father’s gait. Like the ibex, the hieroglyphic symbol of nobility, the king moved purposefully, without squandering the least bit of energy. He carried only one object, a rod whittled from two acacia branches, polished and tied together at one end with tight linen bands.

  The rock crunched beneath their feet, releasing hot dust. Ramses, near asphyxiation, joined his father at the top of the dune. The desert vista was spectacular. The crown prince enjoyed it for a few seconds before his obsessive thirst reminded him that the expanse could become their final resting place.

  Seti held the two acacia branches apart in front of him, bending them easily. He walked them slowly around, until the divining rod suddenly jumped and tumbled a few yards in front of him.

  Ramses, feverish, fetched the forked stick and handed it back to his father. Together they walked down the slope. Seti stopped in front of some heaped flat stones with thorny plants growing out of them. The rod again leaped in his hands.

  “Go get the quarrymen and have them dig here.”

  His fatigue vanished. Ramses ran as fast as he could, jumping over rocks, and brought back forty men, who set to work at once.

  The soil was loose. Ten feet down, they hit water.

  One of the soldiers fell to his knees.

  “God guided the king’s spirit . . . the water is running like the Nile at flood stage.”

  “My prayer was answered,” said Seti. “The name of this well will be May the Truth of Divine Light Shine Forever. When all the men have drunk their fill, we will begin construction of a mining camp and a temple for the gods. Their presence will guard this well and open the way for those seeking the light of gold to shine forever in sacred objects.”

  Under the leadership of Seti, called Good Shepherd, Father and Mother of All Men, Confidant of the Gods, the rejoicing soldiers were transformed into master builders.

  FORTY-ONE

  In Memphis, the Great Royal Wife was presiding at the temple of the goddess Hathor, where female novices—singers, dancers, and musicians—were being inducted into the priesthood. Young women from all over the country had been chosen for this honor through a rigorous selection process.

  Tuya’s large eyes were serious and attentive. Wearing a wig in the form of a vulture carcass, symbolic of motherly protection, Tuya made such an impression on the candidates that many of them were unable to perform. Having gone through the ordeal herself when she was young, the queen was not about to coddle them. Self-control should be first and foremost in anyone wishing to enter the divine ministry.

  She was not overly impressed with the artistic technique displayed. She made a note to speak to the harem music and dance masters about this recent lapse. The only outstanding performance was from a young woman who wore a serious, somewhat withdrawn expression on her amazingly beautiful face. When she played the lute, her concentration was so intense that the outer world clearly ceased to exist for her.

  After the auditions, refreshments were offered to all the candidates, winners and losers alike. Some of them were tearful, others giggly, still part-child, part-woman. Only the lovely young lute player seemed unaffected by the day’s events, even though the board of retired priestesses had decided to name her the temple’s new director of women’s music.

  The queen walked up to her. “You were brilliant.”

  The girl bowed to Tuya.

  “What is your name?”

  “Nefertari.”

  “Where do you come from?”

  “I was born in Thebes and sent to study in the harem at Merur.”

  “And now Memphis, though you don’t sound particularly thrilled with your accomplishments.”

  “I had hoped to return to Thebes and find a place at the temple of Amon.”

  “To live in the cloister?”

  “My dearest wish is to be initiated into the mysteries of Amon, but I’m still too young for that.”

  “It’s not a wish many women your age would share. Has life disappointed you, Nefertari?”

  “No, Majesty, but the religious life attracts me.”

  “You don’t want to marry and have children?”

  “I haven’t given it much thought.”

  “The temple life is an austere one.”

  “I like being surrounded by the eternal stones, their secrets and their call to contemplation.”

  “Nevertheless, would you agree not to answer that call for the time being?”

  Nefertari bravely raised her eyes to meet Tuya’s; the Great Royal Wife appreciated her clear, direct gaze.

  “Being the women’s music director of this temple is a special job, but I have something else in mind for you. Would you become mistress of my household?”

  Mistress of the Great Royal Wife’s household! It was an appointment noble ladies dreamed of, with the status of being the queen’s confidante attached to it.

  “The old friend who worked with me died last month,” revealed Tuya. “There have been many contenders at court, and it hasn’t been pretty.”

  “I have no experience, I . . .”

  “You don’t belong to the nobility. You don’t feel anything is owed to you, or that your family’s illustrious name should make up for your lackluster efforts.”

  “Couldn’t my background prove too much of a handicap?”

  “All that interests me is a person’s worth. There is no handicap that cannot be overcome by inner worth. What do you say?”

  “May I think it over?”

  The queen was amused. No noble lady would ever have asked such a question. “I’m afraid not. If I let you inside the temple, I’ll never get you out.”

  Hands folded on her breast, Nefertari bowed.

  “At Your Majesty’s service.”

  An early riser, Queen Tuya loved the predawn quiet. The instant when the first ray of light pierced the darkness was a daily reenactment of the mystery of life. To her great satisfaction, Nefertari was also a “lark.” They went over the new housemistress’s assignments during breakfast.

  Three days after impulsively hiring Nefertari, Tuya knew it had not been a mistake. The girl was as astute as she was lovely, with an astonishing ability to get to the heart of every matter. From their first planning session, the queen and the mistress of her household worked together beautifully. They communicated in sentence fragments, sometimes with no words at all. When their morning business was concluded, Tuya went to be dressed for the day.

  As the queen’s hairdresser was scenting her wig, Shaanar arrived to see his mother.

  “Ask your servant to leave,” he demanded. “What I have to say is for your ears only.”

  “Is it that serious?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  The hairdresser withdrew. Shaanar seemed genuinely upset.

  “Speak to me, son.”

  “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to.”

  “Now that you’ve made up your mind, don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “Well, I . . . I’d hate to cause you pain.”

  Now Tuya was worried. “Has something happened?”

  “Seti, Ramses, and their search party have disappeared.”

  “Do you have any details?�
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  “It’s been some time since they left for the desert, in search of the missing gold-mining party. The rumors are dire.”

  “Don’t pay any attention. If Seti were dead, I’d know it.”

  “How—”

  “There are invisible bonds between your father and me. Even when we’re apart, we remain connected. So please don’t worry.”

  “Still, consider the evidence. The king and his army should have returned by now. We can’t simply let the country slide.”

  “The vizier and I are handling day-to-day matters.”

  “Would you like my help?”

  “Do your own job and be content with it: there is no greater happiness on this earth. If you’re still worried, why not form your own expedition to look for your father and brother?”

  “Strange things happen in the desert, with monsters devouring prospectors who come to steal their gold. As the surviving heir, my duty is to stay put, don’t you think?”

  “Listen to your conscience,” said the queen.

  Neither of Seti’s two messengers, leaving four days apart, made it back to Egypt. On the trail to the Valley, desert trappers lay in wait to kill them, steal their clothing, and break the wooden writing boards with Ramses’ message to the queen: that the prospecting had been successful and the troops were laying the foundations for a temple and a mining town.

  The trappers sent a man to tell Shaanar that the Pharaoh and the crown prince were alive and well after the king found a new source of water deep in the desert, thanks to divine intervention. The Bedouins had poisoned the district’s main well in vain.

  The majority opinion at court was that some evil had befallen Seti and Ramses. How best to make use of the king’s absence? Tuya kept a firm grip on the reins of power. Only physical proof of her husband’s and younger son’s deaths would have forced her to name Shaanar as co-regent.

  In a few weeks, at the latest, the expedition would return home and Shaanar would miss his best chance yet to mount the throne. There was still a slim chance that the unbearable heat, the snakes and scorpions would do what the fierce Bedouins had been unable to accomplish.