Ramses, Volume I

by Christian Jacq

  It was all clear to him now. But Ramses, confined in the temple, would never know the truth, and the culprit would go unpunished.

  Ahmeni was outraged. He and his friends would never rest until the villain was brought to trial.

  Iset the Fair told Nefertari she must see the queen, she must see the queen at once. Since Tuya was discussing details of an upcoming religious festival with the chief priestess of Hathor, Iset was forced to wait. Fidgeting, she twisted one long sleeve of her linen dress until it tore.

  Finally Nefertari opened the door to the audience chamber. Iset the Fair stumbled in to throw herself at the feet of the Great Royal Wife.

  “Your Majesty, please, won’t you do something?”

  “Whatever is the matter?”

  “Ramses has no wish to be a priest, I’m sure of it! What has he done to deserve such punishment?”

  Tuya lifted Iset the Fair and asked her please to be seated on a low-backed chair.

  “Does the cloistered life seem so terrible to you?”

  “Ramses is only eighteen! It might be all right for an old man, but being sent away to a temple, at his age . . .”

  “Who told you he was staying?”

  “His private secretary, Ahmeni.”

  “My son is a resident at Abydos, but not on a permanent basis. A future pharaoh must be initiated into the mysteries of Osiris and understand the inner workings of a temple in detail. He will return when his education is complete.”

  Iset the Fair felt both shamefaced and deeply relieved.

  A shawl thrown over her shoulders, Nefertari was the first one up, as usual. She mentally ran through her daily tasks and reviewed the queen’s schedule, without a thought for herself. Running the Great Royal Wife’s household demanded a great deal of work and constant attention to detail. Different as it was from the structured religious life of her dreams, she found her position as housemistress rewarding because of her deep admiration for the queen. Holding herself to the same high standards she demanded of others, steeped in Egypt’s grandeur, devoted to traditional values, Tuya was truly a living goddess, embodying the rectitude of Ma’at. Nefertari sensed the scope of the Great Royal Wife’s responsibilities and realized that her own role had added significance: the royal household must serve as an example of harmonious management.

  The kitchen was empty. The servant girls must have slept in. Nefertari went to knock on each door: no answer. She reversed direction and looked in each room: all empty.

  What had gotten into her usually reliable and punctual staff ? It was not a religious holiday, not a day of rest. Even then, there would be coverage. No fresh bread, cakes, or milk in the usual places. And the queen would need her breakfast within ten minutes!

  Nefertari was bewildered. Could the palace be under a spell?

  She hurried out to the millstone. Perhaps the fleeing staff had left some food there. But all that she found was wheat; she would never have time to grind it, mix the dough, bake bread. With good reason, Tuya would accuse her housemistress of negligence and lack of preparation; her dismissal would be immediate.

  On top of the humiliation, there would be the pain of leaving the queen. Nefertari realized how deeply attached she had grown to the Great Royal Wife. No longer serving her would bring heartbreak.

  “It will be a great day,” prophesied a low voice. Nefertari slowly turned around.

  “You, the Prince Regent of Egypt, at the millstone?”

  Ramses was leaning against a wall, arms crossed.

  “Is my presence here unseemly?”

  “No, I . . .”

  “As far as my mother’s breakfast is concerned, don’t worry. Her maids will serve it at the usual time.”

  “But the place is deserted!”

  “I believe your favorite maxim is ‘A perfect word is rarer than green stone, yet the servant girl grinding wheat at the millstone may possess it’?”

  “Am I to understand that you banished the household staff to lure me here?”

  “I expected that you’d come.”

  “Would you like me to grind you some wheat for your trouble?”

  “No, Nefertari. A perfect word is what I’m after.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I have none.”

  “I’m convinced that you do.”

  She was lovely, radiant; her eyes had the depth of heavenly waters. “Perhaps I ought not to say so, but I find your practical joke in the worst of taste.”

  The prince seemed less sure of himself. “Say the word, Nefertari.”

  “Everyone thinks you’re to stay at Abydos permanently.”

  “I came back yesterday.”

  “And your most pressing business is interfering with the queen’s servants?”

  “At Abydos, by the Nile, I met a wild bull. We were face-to-face, my life hung on his horns. In the few seconds he stared at me, I reached some serious decisions. Since the bull didn’t kill me, I need to take charge of my life.”

  “I’m glad that you lived and I hope you become Pharaoh.”

  “Is that my mother’s opinion, or your own?”

  “I’m not in the habit of lying. May I take my leave now?”

  “I know that you can say that word, Nefertari, the one more precious than green stone. It would bring me such happiness to hear it.”

  The young woman bowed. “I am your humble servant, Regent of Egypt.”

  “Nefertari!”

  She raised her proud eyes to his once more. Her nobility was dazzling.

  “The queen expects me for our morning conference. Tardiness is a grave infraction.”

  Ramses took her in his arms.

  “What must I do to persuade you to marry me?”

  Her voice soft, she replied, “Ask me.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Seti began the tenth year of his reign by making an offering to the Great Sphinx of Giza, guardian of the plateau where the pharaohs Cheops, Khephren, and Mycerinus had their pyramids. The Sphinx’s vigilance kept intruders off this holy ground, an energy source for the entire country.

  As prince regent, Ramses accompanied his father into the small temple erected in front of the colossal lion with the head of a king, eyes raised heavenward. A stela beside it showed Seti killing an oryx, the animal associated with his evil namesake, Set. Representing a victory over the forces of darkness, the hunt scene showed Pharaoh in his most important role: bringing order out of disorder.

  The site impressed Ramses, its power seeping into each fiber of his being. Everything was immutable; the pyramids would outlast time. Next to intimate, reflective Abydos, Giza bore the most striking testimony he had seen to the presence of ka, the invisible and ubiquitous life force; in the animal world, it inhabited the wild bull.

  “I met the bull again, by the Nile,” Ramses whispered to his father. “We were face-to-face, and he stared me down, like the first time.”

  “You wanted to renounce your right to the throne,” said Seti, “and he wouldn’t let you.”

  His father read his mind. Perhaps Seti had even changed into a wild bull to make his son face up to his responsibilities.

  “Not all the secrets at Abydos were clear to me, but the long retreat there did teach me that mystery is at the heart of life.”

  “Go back often and watch over the temple. Celebrating the mysteries of Osiris is a key to maintaining the country’s equilibrium.”

  “I’ve made one other decision.”

  “Your mother approves, and so do I.”

  In a less solemn setting, the prince would have jumped for joy. One day would he be able to see into people’s hearts the way Seti did?

  Ramses had never seen Ahmeni so excited.

  “I know everything and I’ve identified our villain! It seems unbelievable, but there’s no room for any doubt. Look, look here!”

  The young scribe, ordinarily so fastidious, was surrounded by a jumble of papyri, fragments of wooden writing boards, shards of limestone. He had gone over every scrap of eviden
ce collected over the months, then gone through it again to make sure.

  “It’s him,” he stated flatly, “and that’s his writing. I can even link him to the chariot driver, who worked for him, and from the driver to the groom. Can you imagine, Ramses? A thief and a criminal, that’s what he is! Why would he act like that?”

  At first incredulous, the crown prince yielded to the evidence. Ahmeni had put together a remarkable case; there were no loose ends.

  “I don’t know,” said Ramses. “But I plan to ask him.”

  Dolora, Ramses’ sister, and her husband, Sary, plumper than ever, were busy feeding the exotic fish that splashed in their garden pool. Dolora was feeling testy; the heat made her tired and her oily complexion only seemed to get worse. She would have to change doctors and face creams again.

  A servant announced Ramses.

  “Finally showing us some respect!” exclaimed Dolora, kissing her brother. “Do you know that at court they thought you were in Abydos for good?”

  “Wrong again, but then the court doesn’t run the country.”

  His authoritative tone surprised the pair. Ramses had changed. This was not merely a privileged young man speaking, but the Prince Regent of Egypt.

  “I hope you’re here to give Sary the granary job.”

  “I’ll need to speak to him alone.”

  “There are no secrets between my husband and me,” fumed Dolora.

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “Absolutely!”

  Sary’s customary good cheer was nowhere in evidence. He looked nervous.

  “Do you recognize this handwriting?” Ramses asked his old teacher, producing the letter that had lured Seti and his son to the granite quarries at Aswan.

  Sary and his wife were dead silent.

  “The signature is an alias, but the writing is easy enough to identify. It’s yours, Sary. Comparison with other documents in your hand is conclusive.”

  “It’s a forgery, a fake—”

  “Teaching wasn’t enough for you, so you figured out a way to sell cheap ink cakes as the top-quality product. When you sensed trouble, you decided to cover your tracks. Given your inside knowledge of the archives and your experience as a scribe, there was nothing simpler. The one thing you missed was a fragment of a draft-copy deed that my secretary dug out of a waste dump, after his private investigation almost cost him his life, mind you. For a long time, we both suspected Shaanar. Then Ahmeni realized where he’d gone wrong. All that was left of the owner’s name on the deed was the letter R. It wasn’t the last letter of my brother’s name, but the second-last in yours, Sary. He also learned that the chariot driver who stranded me in the desert was on your payroll for more than a year. My brother is innocent. You’re the only one to blame.”

  Ramses’ old teacher, tight-lipped, avoided his eyes. Dolora appeared neither upset nor surprised.

  “You don’t have a case,” reasoned Sary. “No court will convict me without solid evidence.”

  “Why do you hate me?” asked Ramses.

  “You won’t get out of our way,” cried his sister, wild-eyed. “You’re nothing but a strutting rooster, so sure of yourself. My husband is a remarkable man, cultured, intelligent, and capable. He should be the one to govern Egypt, and thanks to me, the Pharaoh’s daughter, he has a legitimate claim!”

  Dolora took her husband’s hand and pushed him forward.

  “Your ambition has made you both mad,” Ramses told them. “To spare my parents a painful ordeal, I won’t bring charges. But I want you out of Memphis. Some provincial town will be your permanent residence. Cause any more trouble and you’ll leave the country.”

  “I’m your sister, Ramses.”

  “That’s why I’m letting you off so lightly. Against my better judgment, I may add.”

  Despite the bodily harm he had suffered, Ahmeni agreed not to press charges, out of friendship for Ramses. His gesture went a long way toward healing the fresh wound of Dolora and Sary’s betrayal. If Ahmeni had demanded vengeance, the prince would not have objected. At the moment, however, the young scribe seemed more concerned with the guest list for Ramses’ wedding.

  “Setau is just back from his last venom-gathering expedition, a big success, as usual. He and Lotus are heading straight to Memphis. Moses should arrive day after tomorrow. That leaves only Ahsha. He’s on his way, but you never know how long it may take.”

  “We’ll wait for him.”

  “I’m happy for you. They say that Nefertari is the most beautiful of all women.”

  “Don’t you agree?”

  “I can tell when a scroll is beautiful, or a poem, but a woman? Don’t ask too much of me.”

  “How has Homer been?”

  “He can’t wait to see you again.”

  “He’s on the list, isn’t he?”

  “Of course.” Ahmeni’s eyes darted toward the door.

  “Expecting someone?”

  “No, but I’m afraid that you are. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out. Iset the Fair has been demanding to see you.”

  Iset the Fair had planned to give vent to her fury, bombard her lover with recriminations, call him names. Instead, he surprised her with a visit, and the moment she saw him she was helpless. Ramses had changed, really changed. More than the passionate young man she was so deeply in love with, he was a reigning prince. He was coming into his own.

  The young woman felt as if she were meeting someone new, someone she had no power to influence. Her bitter resentment gave way to a mixture of fear and respect.

  “I’m so . . . I’m honored to see you.”

  “My mother told me you called on her.”

  “I was so worried you wouldn’t come back!”

  “And now that I have?”

  “I’ve heard . . .”

  “Tomorrow I’m marrying Nefertari.”

  “She’s very beautiful, and I . . . I’m pregnant.”

  Ramses tenderly took her hand. “Did you think I’d abandon you? The child will be both of ours. If one day my destiny is to be Pharaoh, Nefertari will be my consort, the Great Royal Wife. But if you still wish, and if she consents, you’ll also live in the palace.”

  She clung to him. “Do you love me, Ramses?”

  “Abydos and the wild bull I met there showed me my true nature. I cannot live like other men. My father has given me a heavy burden to carry, and I may falter, but I need to try. You’re my wild youth, Iset. You’re passion and desire. Nefertari is a queen.”

  “I’ll grow old and you won’t want me anymore.”

  “I’m head of a clan, and that means I take care of my own. Do you want to belong to my clan, Iset?”

  She offered her lips to him in answer.

  The wedding was a private affair, with no religious ceremony. Nefertari asked for a simple celebration in the country: a palm grove, wheat fields and bean blossoms, a sandy ditch where grazing animals stopped to drink.

  Nefertari had adopted Queen Tuya’s manner of dress, wearing a short linen gown accented with lapis lazuli bracelets and a carnelian necklace. The most elegant member of the party was Ahsha, back from Asia that very morning, and surprised at the outdoor setting for a gathering that included the Pharaoh’s principal wife, Moses, Ahmeni, Setau, a famous Greek poet, an oversized lion and a playful yellow dog. He would have preferred something slightly more formal, but kept his reservations to himself and shared the rustic meal as Setau looked on in amusement.

  “You don’t look very comfortable,” remarked the snake handler.

  “A lovely spot.”

  “But oh, my, the grass stains on that fine white linen! Life can be so unfair. Especially when there isn’t a snake to be found.”

  Homer was not too blind to be fascinated by Nefertari. He admitted, albeit reluctantly, that she was even lovelier than Helen.

  “Thanks to you,” Moses told Ramses, “I’m enjoying a real day of rest.”

  “Your work at Karnak is hard, then?”

 
“The scale of the project is so huge that the smallest miscalculation could lead to disaster. I have to keep a constant check on details to make sure everything goes according to plan.”

  Seti did not attend; while he gave the match his blessing, he never took a day off. Egypt did not allow it.

  It was a relaxed and happy day. Back at his residence, Ramses carried Nefertari over the threshold. In the eyes of the law, they were man and wife.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Shaanar was a whirlwind of activity. He made contact after contact, courting key players at a round of lunches, dinners, public receptions, private meetings. He played the role of chief of protocol to the hilt, improving social relations in the top echelons of the kingdom.

  In reality, Shaanar was capitalizing on his brother’s monumental error: marrying a commoner, a poor commoner, and planning to make her his consort! Perhaps it was not without precedent, and there was no law against it, but in Shaanar’s interpretation it became a slap in the face to the court, the Egyptian nobility—in whom he found a most receptive audience. It was anyone’s guess how far this unconventional prince might go. The nobles had their names, their positions to think of! And who knew how Nefertari would act? With her humble beginnings, power might turn her head. She would choose her own inner circle, without regard to old titles or new money.

  Ramses’ star was fading, fading fast.

  “Your poor face!” exclaimed Shaanar. Dolora was a sight! “Is anything wrong?”

  “Everything’s wrong,” she sobbed.

  “My dear little sister . . . Do you mind telling me?”

  “Sary and I have been banished from Memphis.”

  “Is this a joke?”

  “Ramses pressured us.”

  “No! On what grounds?”

  “His sniveling secretary claims . . . they’re accusing my husband of the basest crimes. If we don’t leave town, Ramses says he’ll take us to court.”

  “Does he have evidence?”

  Dolora pouted. “Not really. It’s all circumstantial. But you know how trials are; it can go either way.”