Ramses, Volume V

by Christian Jacq

  Wearing a red and black woolen robe like the one his late brother had favored, Hattusili entered the Egyptian diplomat’s private suite.

  “Are you satisfied with your welcome, Ahsha?”

  “It’s more than adequate, thank you, Your Highness.”

  “The cold snap isn’t affecting you, I hope?”

  “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t. The weather is so mild on the banks of the Nile at this time of year.”

  “Every country has its advantages. Don’t you like Hatti anymore?”

  “The older I get, Your Highness, the more of a homebody I become.”

  “Then I have good news for you. I’ve made up my mind. You can leave for Egypt by tomorrow morning. But I also have bad news: I’m standing firm on my position, and my demands are the same. My daughter must become Ramses’ Great Royal Wife.”

  “What if Pharaoh continues to refuse?”

  Hattusili turned his back on the Egyptian. “Yesterday I convened my generals and told them to prepare our troops for combat. Since my brother the Pharaoh has asked me for iron, I’ve had a special present made for him.”

  The emperor turned back to face Ahsha, pulling an iron dagger from an inner pocket and handing it over.

  “A marvel, isn’t it? Light and easy to handle, yet able to cut through the toughest shield. I showed the dagger to my generals and promised to retrieve it myself from the corpse of my brother Ramses if he rejects my proposal.”

  The sun sank behind the temple of Set, the strangest building in Pi-Ramses. The home of this angry deity, the “Instigator of Confusion,” had been built on the site of the former Hyksos capital, razed when the first kings of the Eighteenth Dynasty had expelled the hated Asiatic invaders. Ramses had transformed the ill-fated place into a pole of positive energy, for he had confronted Set the Destroyer and appropriated his power.

  It was here, in this forbidden domain where only Set’s son dared to tread, that Pharaoh would draw the strength necessary to wage the forthcoming combat.

  When Ramses emerged from the temple, his younger son, Merenptah, approached him.

  “My task is completed, Father.”

  “You’ve worked fast.”

  “I’ve inspected every barracks from Pi-Ramses to Memphis.”

  “You give credit to reports from the commanding officers?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Speak your mind.”

  “None, Your Majesty.”

  “Why is that, Merenptah?”

  “I’ve observed them. They’ve gotten soft. The commanders are so sure that your peace will hold that they’ve neglected training. Our army has rested on its laurels so long that it’s gone to sleep.”

  “What’s the state of our arsenal?”

  “The quantity of arms is adequate, but the quality isn’t what it should be. The foundries have slowed production over the past several years, and a good number of the chariots need an overhaul.”

  “See to it.”

  “I may bruise a few egos in the process.”

  “When the fate of Egypt is at stake, that hardly matters. Act like a true commander-in-chief, retire any officers who’ve grown lax, name reliable men to responsible positions, and furnish our army with the weapons it needs. Don’t come back to see me until you’ve fulfilled your mission.”

  Merenptah bowed to Pharaoh and left for headquarters.

  It was not the way a father ought to speak to his son; but Ramses was the Lord of the Two Lands and Merenptah his potential successor.

  Iset the Fair was losing sleep, even though she felt truly blessed.

  Every day she was able to see Ramses, exchange confidences with him, take part in religious ceremonies and official appearances at his side . . . and her two sons, Kha and Merenptah, both had brilliant careers.

  Yet Iset the Fair felt sadder and sadder, more and more alone, as if this surfeit of happiness had sapped her vitality. The cause of her sleepless nights was clear: where Nefertari had built a bridge to peace, she, Iset, was becoming a symbol of conflict. Just as Helen had been the origin of the terrible Trojan War, she, Iset, would be seen as the cause of a new confrontation between Egypt and Hatti.

  Under Merenptah’s guidance, Pi-Ramses was in the grip of rearmament fever. Intensive training and arms production had begun in earnest.

  The queen’s hairdresser was worried.

  “When can I do your makeup, Your Majesty?”

  “Is the king up?”

  “Oh, for ages.”

  “Will we be lunching together?”

  “He sent word to your majordomo that he’ll be in meetings all day with the vizier and the fortress commanders from Canaan.”

  “Then send for my sedan chair and bearers.”

  “Your Majesty! Your hair isn’t done, I haven’t put on your wig or painted your eyes, I—”

  “Be quick about it.”

  Iset the Fair was an easy burden for the twelve sturdy bearers who took her from the palace to Ahmeni’s office. And since the Great Royal Wife had asked them to hurry, they looked forward to a healthy tip and an extra hour’s rest.

  The queen made her way through the busy staff room. The twenty scribes working for Ahmeni dealt with a considerable number of issues and had no time for idle chatter. They had to pore over documents, write briefs for the king’s private secretary, sort, file, and struggle to keep up with the workload.

  Iset walked through a broad room full of columns; some of the scribes didn’t even spare her a glance. When she entered Ahmeni’s office, he was chewing a slice of bread smeared with goose fat and composing a critique to the head of the royal granaries.

  Ramses’ sandal-bearer rose in astonishment.

  “Your Majesty . . .”

  “Sit down, Ahmeni. I need to talk to you.”

  The queen closed the wooden door to the office and drew the latch. The scribe felt ill at ease; much as he’d admired Nefertari, he’d always clashed with Iset the Fair. It was also unusual to see her looking less than presentable, with dull eyes, a drawn face, and no hint of makeup.

  “I can’t do without your help, Ahmeni.”

  “I don’t see how I can help, Your Majesty . . .”

  “Stop playing games with me. I know full well that the court would be relieved if Pharaoh repudiates me.”

  “Your Majesty!”

  “That’s how it is, and nothing I do will change it. You know what’s going on in this country: what do the people think?”

  “It’s rather delicate . . .”

  “I want to know the truth.”

  “You’re the Great Royal Wife, and public opinion should be of no consequence.”

  “The truth, Ahmeni.”

  The scribe lowered his eyes, as if concentrating on the scroll he held.

  “You have to understand the people, Your Majesty. They’re used to peace now.”

  “The people loved Nefertari. They haven’t much use for me. That’s the truth you’re afraid to tell me.”

  “I can’t deny it, Your Majesty.”

  “Speak to Ramses. Tell him I understand how serious the situation is and that I’m ready to step down in order to avoid a conflict.”

  “Ramses has made his decision.”

  “Reason with him, Ahmeni, I beg of you.”

  The king’s private secretary was convinced of Iset the Fair’s sincerity. For the first time, he saw her as worthy of being the Queen of Egypt.

  FIFTEEN

  Why are you delaying your departure?” Emperor Hattusili inquired of Ahsha.

  “Because I still hope to change your mind.”

  Frigid gusts blew over his capital’s ramparts; the lord and master of Hatti, cap on head, was tightly bundled in his red and black woolen robe. The Egyptian wore an ample cape, but still felt the biting cold.

  “Impossible, Ahsha.”

  “Do you want to start a pointless war over a woman? Troy served as an example. Why get caught up in a killing frenzy? Queens are supposed to give life, no
t death.”

  “Your arguments are excellent, but so Egyptian! Hatti would never forgive me for losing face. If I back down to Ramses I’ll lose my hold on the throne.”

  “No one is challenging you.”

  “If I do anything that causes humiliation to the Hittite army, I won’t live long. We’re a warrior people, Ahsha; bear in mind that my replacement would be far worse than I am.”

  “Ramses wants to make sure your reign will last, Your Highness.”

  “Can I believe you?”

  “I swear on what I hold dearest: Ramses’ life.”

  The two men walked a short way down the wall walk surrounding the capital, bristling with watchtowers. The military presence was always felt in Hattusa.

  “Aren’t you tired of waging war, Your Highness?”

  “Soldiers bore me. But without them there would be no more Hatti.”

  “Egypt has no taste for combat. We prefer the art of love and building temples. Let’s leave the battle of Kadesh in the past.”

  “Ahsha, don’t force me to say that I wish I’d been born an Egyptian!”

  “Any new conflict between Egypt and Hatti would be a disaster. It would weaken our two countries and play into Assyria’s hands. Why not allow a diplomatic marriage between your daughter and Ramses, and leave Iset the Fair in place as Great Royal Wife?”

  “I can’t back down now, Ahsha.”

  Ramses the Great’s secretary of state looked out over the lower town, in the heart of which stood the temple of the Storm God and the Sun Goddess.

  “Men are perverse and dangerous animals,” he mused. “Eventually they’ll spoil the earth and wipe out their own kind. Once the downward spiral begins, there’s no stopping it. Why are men so bent on their own destruction?”

  “Because humans have grown farther and farther apart from the gods,” replied Hattusili. “When the final link has been severed, there will be nothing left but fanatics manipulated by tyrants; the people will be like ants.”

  “It’s curious, Your Highness . . . You force me to admit that I’ve spent my life fighting for Ma’at, the harmonious balance between heaven and earth. In the end, it’s all that matters.”

  “And isn’t that what made you Ramses’ friend?”

  The wind blew harder, accentuating the cold.

  “We’d better go back inside, Ahsha.”

  “It seems such a waste, Your Highness.”

  “I quite agree, but you and I can do nothing about it. Let’s hope that the gods of Hatti and Egypt will witness our good faith and perform a miracle.”

  A teeming crowd milled along the river landing at Pi-Ramses. Earlier in the day several boats from Memphis, Thebes, and other cities to the south had been unloaded, and the local market’s customary bustle had reached unprecedented proportions. The merchants with the choicest locations, including a number of women vendors, were sure to make a killing.

  Hand in hand, Uri-Teshoop and Tanit strolled through the marketplace, looking at fabric, sandals, chests of precious wood, and other luxury goods. All of Pi-Ramses was out shopping, and the comely Phoenician smiled through clenched teeth at her many acquaintances, who were attracted by the Hittite prince’s manly charms.

  Uri-Teshoop noted with satisfaction that Serramanna’s henchmen were no longer tailing him. Harassing an honest citizen was an offense; the prince would be within his rights to file a grievance.

  “Can I buy a few things?” Tanit asked plaintively.

  “See here, darling, you’re free to do as you please.”

  His bride shopped compulsively to calm her nerves, stopping at stand after stand and eventually reaching Raia’s. The Syrian merchant was featuring pewter drinking cups, slender alabaster vases, and colored perfume vials that elegant ladies were snapping up. As Tanit bargained with one of Raia’s assistants, the Syrian approached Uri-Teshoop.

  “Excellent news from Hattusa: Ahsha’s negotiations are at a standstill. The emperor refuses to withdraw his demands.”

  “Have the talks broken down for good?”

  “Ahsha is on his way back to Egypt. Hattusili’s reply to Ramses is an iron dagger that he’s promising to retrieve from the Pharaoh’s body when the Hittites defeat him in battle.”

  Uri-Teshoop paused, finally saying, “I want you to deliver my wife’s purchases in person. Come by tonight.”

  Setau, still in his prime, was more amazed by the day.

  How did Lotus, his lovely Nubian wife, manage to stay so young? She used no unguents or pomades; it must be her witchcraft that preserved the charms her husband found so hard to resist. With her, love was a delightful game, with inexhaustible variations.

  Setau nuzzled Lotus’s breasts.

  Suddenly she grew tense.

  “Did you hear a noise?”

  “Your heart, I think it’s beating faster . . .”

  Then she relaxed as Setau made it impossible for her to concentrate on anything other than their mutual and mounting pleasure.

  The unexpected visitor froze. When she slipped into the laboratory, she had hoped to find it empty. But when Setau and Lotus were staying in Pi-Ramses, they liked to remain close to their containers of venom from the royal cobra, black cobra, puff adder, and horned viper. They were currently conducting important research in conjunction with the chief physician of the realm. Banquets and the social whirl bored them; between endless hours of empty conversation and the study of substances that could induce death or possibly save lives, it was no contest.

  Sighs and heavy breathing reassured the visitor. Setau and Lotus were fully occupied. All she needed to do was watch her step and get her hands on a flask of venom without making the slightest sound. Which one should she choose? A useless question; one poison would be as effective as the next. In their unrefined, undiluted state, the effect would be deadly.

  One step, then another, and a third . . . The bare feet glided over the floor tiles. Just a few more steps and the interloper would reach the heart of this forbidden domain.

  Suddenly, a form reared up.

  Terrified, the intruder stopped in her tracks. In the dim light, she identified a royal cobra swaying from side to side. Her fear was so intense that she couldn’t utter a sound. Her instinct told her to back away, extremely slowly, moving almost imperceptibly.

  It felt as if her flight took hours. When she was out of sight, the guardian cobra went back to sleep.

  Ahmeni counted the scrolls again: forty-two, one per province. The results would vary according to the number of canals and bodies of water. Thanks to the huge lake developed by the pharaohs of the Middle Kingdom, the Faiyum region, already rich in various species of trees, had a head start. In keeping with Ramses’ orders, willow trees would be planted all over Egypt. Temple laboratories would extract the analgesic substance from the bark, making it more readily available to doctors.

  The additional assignment had been the last straw for Ahmeni. He took his frustration out on his subordinates, but never questioned Pharaoh’s directives. The only good thing was that the king’s official sandal-bearer wasn’t required to make preparations for war on top of everything else! Merenptah was handling that job very well, never coming to cry on Ahmeni’s shoulder.

  Loaded down with papyrus scrolls, the scribe intercepted Ramses on his way to perform the evening rites in the temple of Amon.

  “Could Your Majesty spare me a minute?”

  “Only if it’s an urgent matter.”

  “All right, I won’t insist . . .”

  “You wouldn’t stop me on the spur of the moment, Ahmeni. What’s on your mind?”

  “Iset the Fair came to consult me.”

  “Is she taking a new interest in affairs of state?”

  “She doesn’t want to be the cause of a conflict with Hatti. I must confess that her sincerity moved me.”

  “If Iset’s charm is working on you at last, the kingdom must be in peril.”

  “It’s serious, Your Majesty. The Great Royal Wife dreads becoming t
he cause of another Hittite war.”

  “I stand by my decision, Ahmeni. If we give in to the Hittites now, our earlier struggles will have been for nothing. Repudiating a Great Royal Wife would mean opening to the door to barbarism. Iset the Fair bears no responsibility for this impasse. The only culprit is Hattusili.”

  SIXTEEN

  An icy rain fell on Hattusa; the Egyptian delegation was about to depart. Elegant and regal in her fringed red dress, indifferent to the cold, the empress came to bid Ahsha farewell.

  “The emperor has taken to his bed,” she revealed.

  “Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “A slight fever; it shouldn’t last.”

  “Tell him I hope that he’ll get well soon, Your Highness.”

  “I’m terribly sorry that the negotiations broke down,” admitted Puduhepa.

  “So am I, Your Highness.”

  “Will Ramses agree in time?”

  “Let’s not fool ourselves.”

  “I’ve never seen you so pessimistic, Ahsha.”

  “There are only two things we can hope for: a miracle and, well, you. Couldn’t you soften your husband’s stand?”

  “Until now I haven’t been able to . . . but I’ll keep trying.”

  “Your Highness, I wanted to say—No, it’s not important.”