Ramses, Volume V

by Christian Jacq

  With her saucy green eyes, pert nose, and rounded chin, Iset the Fair was vivacious and charming. Even though she was past fifty, the years never seemed to touch her; she was as graceful and winning as ever.

  “Has the king left the temple yet?” she asked her chambermaid, a note of concern in her voice.

  “Not yet, Your Majesty.”

  “The ambassadors will be furious!”

  “Don’t you worry. An audience with Ramses is such a privilege that no one minds waiting.”

  To be with Ramses . . . yes, it was the greatest of privileges! Iset recalled their first summer of love, when he was a brash young prince, not yet destined for power. How happy they had been in their reed hut at the edge of a wheat field, secretly discovering pleasure in each other! Then the sublime Nefertari appeared on the scene, unaware that she had all the qualities required of a Great Royal Wife. Ramses had chosen well in Nefertari; yet it was Iset the Fair who had given him two sons, Kha and Merenptah. For a short while she had felt some resentment toward Ramses, until she realized that she was quite unprepared for a queen’s overwhelming responsibilities. Her lone ambition was to share the existence of the man she loved, to however great or small an extent he allowed.

  Neither Nefertari nor Ramses had shunted her aside. As “secondary wife,” according to protocol, Iset had been blessed to stay close to the king, living in his shadow. Some claimed she was wasting her life, but Iset only laughed. To her, even being a servant to Ramses would be better than marrying some stupid, pretentious diplomat.

  Nefertari’s death had been profoundly distressing. The queen was no rival, but a friend for whom Iset felt the greatest admiration and respect. Realizing that no words could lessen the monarch’s heartbreak, she remained on the sidelines, silent and discreet.

  And then something inconceivable occurred.

  At the end of the mourning period, after Ramses himself had sealed the door to Nefertari’s tomb, the king asked Iset the Fair to assume the position of Great Royal Wife. No King of Egypt could reign alone, for Pharaoh united the masculine and feminine principles, joined in harmony.

  Iset the Fair had never expected to become Queen of Egypt; any comparison to Nefertari terrified her. Yet Ramses’ will was law. Iset assented, despite her anxiety. She became “the Sweet of Love, She Who Sees Horus and Set at One in Pharaoh, Lady of the Two Lands of Upper and Lower Egypt, She Whose Voice Gives joy.” These traditional titles were of no importance. The true miracle was sharing Ramses’ existence, his hopes and sorrows. Iset was the wife of the greatest king the world had ever known, and his faith in her was enough to make her happy.

  “His Majesty is asking for you,” said the chambermaid.

  In her vulture headdress festooned with two tall plumes, her long white robe and floating red sash, her golden necklace and bracelets, the Great Royal Wife made her way to the audience chamber. Her noble upbringing served her well in official ceremonies. She knew the gathered dignitaries would be watching her like a hawk, just as they watched Pharaoh.

  Iset the Fair stopped a few steps from Ramses.

  He was her first and only love, yet he never ceased to impress her. He towered over her; she would never take the full measure of his thought. Yet the magic of passion had bridged the yawning gap between them.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  The Queen of Egypt bowed her head.

  When the royal pair appeared, the room fell silent. Ramses and Iset the Fair took their place on the throne.

  The Pharaoh’s boyhood friend and secretary of state, elegant, debonair Ahsha, stepped forward. His refined appearance—impeccable robe, trim mustache, intelligent, sparkling eyes—and somewhat haughty manner made it hard to believe that he had worked as a daring undercover agent in Hittite territory. With his love of women and the finer things in life, Ahsha might have looked on the world with jaded eyes, yet he burned with a mission that nothing and no one could quench: working for the greater glory of Ramses, the one man for whom he felt a boundless, if unspoken, admiration.

  “Your Majesty,” declared Ashsa, “the south submits to you and brings you its riches, requesting the breath of life from you. The north implores the miracle of your presence. The east offers all its land; the west kneels humbly, its chiefs approach with their heads bowed.”

  The Hittite ambassador broke away from the crowd of diplomats and kowtowed to the royal couple.

  “Pharaoh is the guiding light,” he declared, “the fire that gives life or destroys it. May his ka live forever, may the weather favor him, may the inundation be provident. It is he who channels divine energy, he in whom heaven and earth are joined. For Ramses has quelled insurrections, and all the world is at peace.”

  Presents followed the round of speeches. From deepest Nubia to the northern protectorates of Canaan and Syria, the empire paid tribute to its master, Ramses the Great.

  The palace was asleep; a single light shone in the king’s office.

  “What’s going on here, Ahsha?” asked Ramses.

  “The Two Lands are thriving, every province is prospering, the granaries are full to bursting, you’re the life of your people, you—”

  “No more official speeches. Why was the Hittite ambassador so fulsome in his praise?”

  “Diplomatic language.”

  “No, I sense something more. Don’t you agree?”

  Ahsha ran a manicured index finger through his scented mustache.

  “I admit that I’m troubled.”

  “Could Hattusili have second thoughts about our treaty?”

  “No, he wouldn’t couch it in those terms.”

  “Tell me what you really think.”

  “Believe me, I’m puzzled.”

  “With the Hittites, leaving questions unanswered could be a fatal mistake.”

  “Am I to understand that you want me to find out the truth?”

  “We’ve had too many peaceful years; lately you’ve lost your edge.”

  THREE

  Short, slight, and thin despite the enormous quantities of food he consumed at all hours of the day and night, Ahmeni, like Ahsha, was a boyhood friend of Ramses. A scribe to the core, a tireless worker, he reigned over a limited staff of twenty specialized aides who prepared briefs for the Pharaoh on essential issues. Ahmeni displayed remarkable efficiency, and despite the envious souls who heaped unfounded criticism on him, Ramses held him in the highest confidence.

  Despite his bad back, Ahmeni always insisted on lugging piles of confidential documents on wooden tablets or papyrus. His face was so drained of color that he often seemed on the verge of fainting. Yet he wore out his assistants, required very little sleep, and wielded reed pens and brushes for hours on end to compose reports for Ramses’ eyes only.

  Since Pharaoh had decided to spend several months in Thebes, Ahmeni had gone along with several members of his staff. Officially “sandal-bearer to the king,” the scribe cared nothing for titles and honors. Following Ramses’ example, his sole obsession was the country’s prosperity. So he allowed himself no respite, for fear of committing a fatal error.

  Ahmeni was shoveling down some barley porridge and farmer’s cheese when Ramses entered his document-filled office.

  “Finished your lunch?”

  “No matter, Your Majesty. The fact that you’re here doesn’t augur well.”

  “Your last few reports seemed rather positive.”

  “Seemed? Why seemed? You aren’t implying that I’m missing something, are you?”

  With age, Ahmeni had grown defensive and snappish.

  “I’m not suggesting any such thing,” Ramses said serenely. “I’m only trying to understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “Isn’t there one area that concerns you somewhat?”

  Ahmeni thought out loud: “The irrigation system is running smoothly; so are the dikes. The provincial governors are obeying directives, with no undue tendency to act on their own. Agriculture is thriving, the people have enough to eat
and adequate lodging. Religious feasts are observed as planned, the companies of builders, quarrymen, stonecutters, sculptors, and painters are at work throughout the country. No, I see no problem.”

  Ramses should have been reassured, for Ahmeni had no equal when it came to spotting flaws in Egypt’s administrative and economic system. Yet the king still looked thoughtful.

  “Is there something Your Majesty hasn’t told me?”

  “You know that I can’t keep anything from you.”

  “Then what is this all about?”

  “The Hittite ambassador was much too flattering about Egypt.”

  “Bah! All the Hittites know how to do is make war and tell lies.”

  “I sense a storm brewing right inside Egypt, a storm with deadly fallout.”

  Ahmeni took the monarch’s premonition seriously. Like his father, Seti, Ramses had strong ties to the terrifying thunder god Set, who also defended the bark of the sun against attacking monsters.

  “Right inside Egypt?” repeated the scribe, unnerved. What did this omen mean?

  “If Nefertari were still in the land of the living, she could see into the future for us.”

  Ahmeni rolled up a scroll and straightened his brushes—everyday gestures to dispel the waves of regret that now washed over him as well as Ramses. Nefertari had been the soul of beauty, intelligence, and grace, the peaceful smile of an accomplished civilization. She had almost made him forget his work—unlike Iset the Fair, who was no favorite of the Pharaoh’s private secretary. Ramses had no doubt been right to elevate her rank, although in Ahmeni’s opinion the role of queen was beyond her. The one real compensation was that she loved Ramses.

  “Does Your Majesty have anything specific in mind?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “We’ll have to be twice as vigilant, then.”

  “I don’t like waiting for trouble.”

  “I know, I know,” grumbled Ahmeni. “Here I thought I might finally take a day off, but I see that will have to wait.”

  Predominantly white, with touches of red on the top and green on the sides, several feet long, flat-headed and thick-tailed, the horned viper slithered sideways toward the foot of the palm tree where a couple lay entwined. After a day beneath the sand, the reptile had come out to hunt at nightfall. In the hot season its bite was instantly fatal.

  Neither the man nor the woman, in their passionate embrace, seemed aware of the danger. Feline, limber, and laughing, the lovely Nubian obliged her lover, a swarthy, solid-looking man of fifty, to call on all the resources of his virility. Now tender, now demanding, the Egyptian stood no chance against the Nubian beauty, making love to her with the eagerness of a first encounter. In the balmy night, their shared pleasure was as torrid as the summer sun.

  The viper was within striking distance.

  The man gently wrestled the woman onto her back and kissed her breasts. She was ready for him. Eyes locked, they consumed each other hungrily.

  Lotus reached out a quick, sure hand to grasp the horned viper by the neck. The reptile hissed and bit into empty air.

  “Nice catch,” commented Setau, without breaking his rhythm. “We’ll get some fine venom without even having to hunt.”

  Suddenly Lotus seemed to lose interest.

  “I have a bad feeling.”

  “Because of the viper?”

  “Ramses is in danger.”

  Setau always took such pronouncements seriously. He might be a snake charmer, a boyhood friend of the Pharaoh’s, and Ramses’ man in the province of Kush—but his wife was a sorceress. Together they had caught an incalculable number of reptiles, each one more dangerous than the next, extracting the venom for medicinal purposes.

  Fiercely independent, Setau and Lotus had nonetheless accompanied Ramses on his military expeditions in both the north and the south, caring for the sick and wounded. In peacetime they had been in charge of a vast research laboratory until Pharaoh asked for their help in Nubia, much to their delight. The spineless viceroy to whom they reported would have tried to interfere with their initiatives, yet he feared this couple whose official residence was guarded by cobras.

  “What sort of danger?” Setau asked with a frown.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you see a face?”

  “No,” replied Lotus. “It was just a sick feeling. For one split second, I sensed a threat to Ramses.”

  Still gripping the viper firmly, she stood up.

  “You’ve got to do something.”

  “What can I do here in Nubia?”

  “Let’s leave for the capital.”

  “Once we’re gone, the viceroy will undo all our good work.”

  “I’m sorry, but if Ramses needs our help, we ought to be by his side.”

  Burly Setau took orders from no man, but he had long ago learned never to contradict his soft-spoken wife.

  The high priest of Karnak, Nebu, had lived to a great age. As the sage Ptah-hotep wrote in his famous Maxims, advancing years meant perpetual fatigue, recurring weakness, and a tendency to doze even during the day. Eyesight and hearing diminished, the heart slowed, speech failed, bones ached, the sense of taste disappeared as nasal congestion increased, and standing and sitting grew equally painful.

  Despite these ailments, old Nebu continued to fulfill his mission from Ramses: to tend the temple of Karnak and its vast estates, preserving the riches of the great god Amon. The high priest delegated the daily running of the complex to Bakhen, the Second Prophet, who oversaw eighty thousand construction workers, craftsmen, field hands, fruit growers, vintners, and other employees.

  When Ramses first named him high priest, Nebu had no illusions. The young monarch wanted to bring the state-within-a-state under his control. He demanded loyalty. Yet Nebu was no mere figurehead; he had fought to keep other temples from plundering Karnak’s wealth and power. Since Pharaoh took care to maintain harmony in the country as a whole, Nebu had considered his tenure blessed.

  The old man, who was kept informed by Bakhen, rarely left his modest three-room dwelling near Karnak’s sacred lake. In the evening he liked to water the iris beds on either side of his front door. When he found he could no longer care for them, he would ask the king to release him from his duties.

  Nebu was astounded to see a stranger pulling weeds in his flower bed. “No one but me touches those irises!” he said testily.

  “Not even the Pharaoh of Egypt?”

  Ramses stood up and turned to face him.

  “Your Majesty, I beg your—”

  “You’re right to take personal care of this treasure, Nebu. You’ve done well by Egypt and Karnak. Planting, helping things grow, keeping them alive, so fragile and beautiful . . . is there any nobler calling? After Nefertari died, I considered leaving my cares behind and becoming a gardener.”

  “Unthinkable, Your Majesty.”

  “I thought you’d be more understanding.”

  “An old man like me can retire with a clear conscience, but you . . .”

  Ramses contemplated the rising moon.

  “A storm is brewing, Nebu. I need reliable, competent men to deal with the forces that may be unleashed. I’m not letting you retire yet, no matter how old and frail you claim to be. Keep running Karnak with a firm hand.”

  FOUR

  The ambassador from Hatti, a wiry little man around sixty, entered the State Department lobby. According to custom, he laid a bouquet of chrysanthemums and lilies on the stone altar and bowed to the looming statue of a baboon. This was the animal form of Thoth, the patron of scribes, god of language and knowledge.

  Then the ambassador addressed a lance-wielding officer.

  “The secretary is expecting me,” he said crisply.

  “I’ll announce your visit.”

  Attired in a fringed robe of red and blue, his dark hair shining with aromatic oil, a short beard framing his jaw, the ambassador paced.

  A smiling Ahsha came out to greet him.

  “I haven�
�t kept you waiting too long, have I? Let’s go into the garden, dear friend, where it will be quieter.”

  Palm and jojoba trees pleasantly shaded a blue lotus pool. On a pedestal table, a servant placed alabaster goblets full of cool beer along with a basket of figs, then withdrew discreetly.

  “Rest assured,” said Ahsha, “we’re quite alone.”

  The Hittite ambassador hesitated to sit down on a folding wooden chair with a comfortable-looking green linen seat pad.

  “What are you so afraid of?”

  “You, Ahsha.”

  The Egyptian diplomat’s smile never left his face.

  “I’ve been a spy in your country, I grant you, but that’s all in the past. Today I’m an official with a reputation to uphold and no desire at all for wild adventures.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because, like you, I have only one goal in mind: strengthening the peace between our two peoples.”

  “Has Pharaoh replied to Emperor Hattusili’s latest letter?”

  “Of course. Ramses sent excellent news of Queen Iset and his horses, repeating how pleased he is to note that the peace treaty is in full force, forever uniting Egypt and Hatti.”

  The ambassador’s face closed.

  “From our point of view, that’s quite insufficient.”

  “What were you hoping for?”

  “Emperor Hattusili has been shocked by the tone of Pharaoh’s last few letters. They made him feel that Ramses considers him as a subject, not an equal.”

  The diplomat’s own tone was almost aggressive.

  “Would you say that his discontent has reached alarming proportions?” inquired Ahsha.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “How could such a slight misunderstanding affect our alliance?”

  “The Hittites are proud. Anyone wounding their pride attracts retribution.”