“At last! A lemon tree, creation’s masterpiece! An absolute requirement for writing poetry. Let me sit down!”
Ramses fetched a three-legged stool, which seemed to satisfy Homer.
“Have some dried sage leaves brought to me.”
“Are you sick?”
“You’ll see. Now tell me, what do you know about the Trojan War?”
“It was long and deadly.”
“Not a very poetic summary! What I have in mind is a long narrative to sing the deeds of Achilles and Hector. Ah, it will go down through the ages.”
The crown prince regarded Homer as a bit pretentious, but admired his spirit.
A black-and-white cat came out of the house and stopped just short of the poet, hesitating only briefly before it jumped in his lap and began to purr.
“A cat, a lemon tree, a cup of spiced wine! I certainly picked the right place. My poem will be a masterpiece. I’ll call it the Iliad.”
Shaanar was proud of Menelaus. The Greek hero, making the best of it, had decided to play along. To win the good graces of the king and the priestly caste, he had made an offering at the temple of Gurnah, dedicated to the Pharaoh’s ka. The beautiful Greek amphorae, banded in yellow with a frieze of lotus buds at the bottom, were added to the temple’s treasure.
The Greek enlisted men, learning their stay was indefinite, settled in the Memphis suburbs and began to barter, trading salves, perfume, and silver pieces for food. Eventually, the government authorized them to open their own shops.
The officers and the best soldiers were integrated into the Egyptian army. They would perform community service such as canal maintenance and dike repair. Most of them would marry, have children, build a house, and blend into Egyptian society. Neither Seti nor Ramses thought anything of it, but a new Trojan Horse, much more subtle than the original, had just been introduced into Egypt.
Menelaus paid another call on Helen, this time supervised by Tuya. He behaved respectfully as a husband should, informing her that from now on they would meet only if she wished it and he would no longer trouble her in any way. Helen was cynical about this change of heart, but was glad to see that Menelaus, like a wildcat caught in a net, had at least stopped struggling.
The King of Sparta was next assigned another, even more delicate, task: appeasing Ramses. He was granted an official audience and made sure to hold his temper, as did Ramses. As an honored guest, Menelaus would adhere to court etiquette and maintain the best possible relations with the crown prince. Despite his cool reception, open conflict was avoided. Shaanar and his Greek friend would weave their web in peace and quiet.
Ahsha, ever more suave, sat in the cabin of Shaanar’s boat, thanking him for the excellent beer. As always, their meeting was held in secret.
The king’s older son explained the standoff between Menelaus and Helen, without revealing how he planned to exploit it.
“Tell me about developments in Asia.”
“It gets more complicated by the day. The smaller states are in constant conflict and each petty king dreams of heading a federation. It’s the best-case scenario for us, but it won’t last. Unlike my colleagues, I do believe that the Hittites will rally the most disgruntled leaders to their own cause. When that happens, Egypt will be in grave danger.”
“How long do you think it will take them?”
“A few years; a coalition takes some time to build.”
“Will Pharaoh hear about it?”
“Yes, but not in the correct perspective. Our ambassadors in the field are too old-fashioned, with no clear view of the future.”
“And you have your own sources?”
“Not yet, but I’ve made some important contacts. We see each other socially, and I hear things.”
“On my end, I’ve gotten closer to the secretary of state; we’re almost friends. If things work out as I plan, he’ll advance your career.”
“Your reputation in Asia is solid, Shaanar. Ramses is an unknown quantity.”
“As soon as anything important happens, let me know.”
FORTY-FIVE
In the tenth year of his reign, Seti decided it was time he led Ramses through a crucial rite of passage, although the crown prince was only eighteen. He would never be able to rule unless he was initiated into the mysteries of Osiris. Pharaoh would have preferred to wait and watch his son mature, but fate might not permit him that luxury. So despite the potential shock to the young man’s system, Seti decided to take him to Abydos.
Abydos was where Seti had built the largest temple in all of Egypt, a monument to Osiris, murdered by his brother Set. Being named for Set associated Seti with terrifying forces of destruction, which he transformed into the power of resurrection, just as the murderous Set carried the divine light of Osiris on his back for all eternity.
Walking behind his father, Ramses passed through the first monumental gateway. In the courtyard, two priests purified his hands and feet in a stone basin. They passed a sacred well, then came to the facade of the inner sanctuary. Before each sculpted likeness of the king as Osiris were floral arrangements and baskets full of food.
“This is the home of light,” Seti revealed.
The doors, made of cedar of Lebanon and gilded with electrum, seemed like a barrier.
“Do you wish to go further?”
Ramses nodded.
The doors opened.
A white-robed priest with a shaved head bade him bow down. As soon as he walked onto the silver floor, he felt himself gliding on a wave of incense into another world. Seti had placed a statue of the goddess Ma’at before each of the seven chapels, symbolizing the sum of all offerings. Then he led his son down the Gallery of Lists, where the name of every pharaoh was carved, beginning with Menes, the unifier of the Two Lands.
“They are dead,” said Seti, “but their ka lives on and will guide your actions. As long as heaven exists, so will this temple. Here, you will commune with the gods and learn their secrets. Take care of their dwelling place. Make their light shine.”
Father and son read the columns of hieroglyphs. They ordered the pharaoh to draw up plans for temples, the kingly prerogative since the dawn of time. When the gods were happy with their places of worship, the earth would reflect their joyous light.
“The names of your ancestors are written forever in the starry sky,” declared Seti. “Their annals are the millions of years. Govern according to the Law, place it in your heart, for it is what binds all forms of life.”
One scene stunned Ramses: an adolescent boy roping a wild bull, with Pharaoh’s help! The decisive moment in his life had been captured in stone, an experience each future king had shared, unaware that he was stepping into his limitless destiny.
The prince followed Seti out of the temple and up a slope to a grove of trees.
“The tomb of Osiris; few people have ever seen it.”
They went down an underground flight of stairs, through a long, arched passageway whose inscriptions named the gates to the netherworld. A sharp bend to the left brought them to an extraordinary sight: ten massive pillars supporting the roof of the shrine rose from an artificial island in a subterranean lake.
“Osiris is reborn each year when his mysteries are celebrated, within this giant sarcophagus. It is identical to the primeval mound emerging from the ocean of energy when the One became Two, taking thousands of shapes while still remaining One. This invisible ocean gave rise to the Nile, the inundation, the dew, the rain, the wellspring. It surrounds the universe, surrounds our world, so the bark of the sun may sail in it. Immerse yourself in this ocean, that your spirit may step beyond the visible world and draw strength from that which has neither beginning nor end.”
The next night, Ramses was initiated into the mysteries of Osiris.
He drank cool water from the invisible ocean and ate wheat that sprang from the risen body of Osiris, then was dressed in fine linen for the procession of the faithful, led by a priest in a jackal mask. Set’s henchmen blocked t
heir way, determined to slay them and do away with Osiris for good. A ritual battle ensued, to eerie music. In the role of Horus, Osiris’s son and heir, Ramses enacted the son of light beating back the hounds of hell, even as his father died in the fighting.
His faithful carried him at once to the sacred mound and began a vigil led by priestesses, including Queen Tuya, embodying Isis, called “Great of Magic,” the consort of Osiris. Her incantations would retrieve the scattered remnants of her husband’s body so the slain god could be resurrected.
Each word that came from her mouth on this sacred night was stamped in Ramses’ heart. It was not his mother officiating, but a goddess. His spirit was drawn into the heart of the mysteries of resurrection, and several times he wavered on the brink of losing all contact with the human world, dissolving into the great beyond. But he emerged victorious from this inconceivable combat, his body and soul intact.
Ramses stayed several weeks in Abydos. He meditated beneath tall trees by the sacred lake. Here the bark of Osiris, built not by human hands but by light, would sail during his Mysteries. The crown prince spent hours at the Stairway of the Great God. Nearby stood stones bearing the names of those Osiris found to be just when he passed judgment over them. Their souls took the form of birds with human heads and returned in pilgrimage to Abydos, where the priests brought them daily offerings.
He was allowed to view the temple’s hoard of gold, silver, royal linen, statues, holy oils, incense, wine, honey, unguents, and vases. Ramses was intrigued by the storerooms, where food produced on the temple’s dependent estates was received and ritually cleansed before it was redistributed to the general population. Steers, fatted cows, calves, goats, and fowl were also blessed. Some animals were kept for the temple barnyard, most sent back to the neighboring villages.
It had been decreed in Year Four of Seti’s reign that each man employed by the temple must know his duty and never veer from it; consequently, every worker at Abydos was protected from abuses of power, forced labor, and the draft. The vizier, judges, ministers, mayors, and provincial officials had been ordered to respect and enforce this decree. All that belonged to Abydos—boats, livestock, land—could never be taken away. The local farmers, stockmen, vintners, and other growers lived in peace under the twofold protection of Pharaoh and Osiris. Seti published his decree all over the country, even as far as Nauri in the Nubian desert, where it was strikingly carved on a stone in letters twice a man’s height. Whoever tried to encroach on temple lands or commandeer its personnel would have his nose or ears cut off and get two hundred lashes.
Taking part in the daily life of the temple, Ramses noted that religious and economic activity were distinct but intertwined. When Pharaoh communed with the divine presence in the inner sanctum, the material world no longer existed, but it had taken talented architects and sculptors to build the shrine and make the stones speak. When Pharaoh made offerings of the choicest foodstuffs, it was thanks to the temple farmers.
No absolute truth was taught here; no dogma translated spiritual yearning into fanaticism. The temple was a container for divine energy, a stone vessel that only seemed motionless; its function was to purify, transform, make sacred. It fed on the connection between the living pharaoh and divine love and fed every level of Egyptian society with that love.
Ramses returned several times to the Gallery of Lists and made out the names of kings who built the country according to the law of Ma’at. Near the temple were the tombs of the earliest rulers, the resting place not of their mummies—entombed in the eternal dwellings at Saqqara—but of their invisible, immortal bodies, without which Pharaoh could not exist.
He was suddenly overwhelmed. He was only a young man of eighteen, burning with a powerful fire, in love with life, but no match for these giants. To think he could ever take Seti’s place—how could he be so impudent and vain?
Ramses had been living in a dreamworld, and Abydos brought him back to reality. That was the main reason his father had brought him here. There was nothing better than this holy place to show him how small he was.
The crown prince left the temple enclosure and walked toward the river. The time had come to return to Memphis, marry Iset the Fair, do the town with his friends, and tell his father he no longer wanted to be regent. Since his older brother wanted nothing more than to succeed Seti, why not let him?
Lost in thought, Ramses wandered into the marshlands bordering the river. Parting the scratchy reeds, he saw it.
The drooping ears, legs thick as pillars, black-and-brown coat, stiff beard, pointed helmet of backward-curving horns, intense and hostile stare were all the same as four years earlier.
Ramses stood firm. He would let the bull dictate his destiny. If the king of the beasts and most powerful force in nature decided to charge, gore, and trample him, Egypt would have one fewer prince and could easily find a replacement. If the bull spared him, his life would no longer be of his own choosing, but a gift and a calling.
FORTY-SIX
Menelaus was the guest of honor at a variety of banquets and festivities. Helen consented to appear at his side and won unanimous approval. The Greek military men became law-abiding citizens and caused little comment.
Shaanar was credited with this satisfactory outcome. The court applauded his diplomatic gifts, implicitly criticizing the crown prince’s overtly hostile attitude toward the King of Sparta. Ramses’ lack of flexibility and disregard for social conventions were cited as proof that he was unfit to rule.
Week by week, Shaanar regained lost ground. His brother’s extended stay at Abydos left the field clear for him. He may have lost the title of heir apparent, but he still knew how to act the part. Although no one dared challenge Seti’s decision, some factions wondered whether he might have made a mistake. Ramses was much more dashing, but would personal presence be enough to rule a great nation?
There was no solid opposition as yet, only rumbles of protest that could turn into a groundswell, one more strategic weapon he could use when the time came. Shaanar had learned his lesson well: Ramses would be a tough opponent. He would need to be attacked simultaneously on several fronts, without giving him time to recover between blows. Patiently, tirelessly, Shaanar wove his secret web.
One crucial step in his plan had just been accomplished, with two Greek officers appointed to the palace guard. They would slowly recruit other foreign mercenaries already on the force and prepare to strike a decisive blow from within. By then, perhaps one of them might even be in the regent’s personal bodyguard! With Menelaus’s help, it could be arranged.
Since the King of Sparta’s arrival, the future looked rosier. Next on his agenda was persuading one of Pharaoh’s doctors to provide reliable information about his state of health. While Seti certainly looked unwell, Shaanar knew he must not jump to conclusions.
He hoped his father would not die suddenly; the master plan was not quite ready. Ramses, the hothead, might think time was on his side, but he was mistaken. Given time, Shaanar’s sturdy web would strangle him to death.
“It’s beautiful . . .” admitted Ahmeni, skimming the first part of the Iliad he had transcribed for Homer, sitting beneath his lemon tree.
The poet with flowing white locks sensed a slight reservation in the scribe’s voice.
“What’s your objection?”
“Your gods are too much like humans.”
“It isn’t that way in Egypt?”
“In folk tales, sometimes, but that’s only for entertainment. What’s taught in the temple is quite another matter.”
“And I suppose a young scribe would know all about it.”
“Of course I don’t, but I do know that our gods represent the forces of creation and their energy must be carefully handled by experts.”
“I’m writing an epic here! Forces of creation don’t make good characters. My gods are up against heroes like Achilles and Patrocles. When you read about their exploits, you won’t be able to put it down.”
Ahmeni
kept his thoughts to himself. Homer’s wild claims fit with what he knew about Greek poets. Classic Egyptian authors wrote about wisdom, not warfare, no matter how grand in scale; still, it was not his place to lecture an older guest.
“It’s been a long time since the crown prince called on me,” complained Homer.
“He’s spending some time in Abydos.”
“The temple of Osiris? I’ve heard great mysteries are taught there.”
“It’s true.”
“When will he be back?”
“I don’t know.”
Homer shrugged and sipped his heady wine, spiced with anise and coriander. “Must mean exile.”
Startled, Ahmeni cried, “What?”
“Consider this scenario: Pharaoh has decided his son isn’t fit to rule, so he’s sent him to Abydos to become a priest, locked away in the temple for life. In a country as religious as this, isn’t that the best place for a castoff ?”
Ahmeni was distraught. If Homer’s analysis was correct, he would never see Ramses again. He would have liked to consult with his friends, but Moses was at Karnak, Ahsha in Asia, Setau in the desert. Alone, frantic with worry, he tried to steady himself with work.
His staff had produced an impressive stack of inconclusive reports on the counterfeit ink case. Their thorough research had turned up no new clue to the identity of either the factory owner or the letter-writer who had lured the king and his son to Aswan.
Ahmeni felt a rising anger. Why should so much work result in nothing but frustration? No one could vanish without a trace. He took the documents off the shelf and sat on the floor. He would read the whole case file again, beginning from his initial search of the waste dumps.
When he came to the draft deed containing the letter R, the last letter in Shaanar’s name, he suddenly had an idea. The idea became a theory of how the mastermind could have done it. The theory became a certainty when he double-checked the handwriting.
Ramses, Volume I Page 26
