“Ramses . . . you can’t refuse my love!”
“Egypt is my bride, Mathor. You’ve never been able to understand that.”
FORTY-THREE
The Viceroy of Nubia could no longer bear Setau’s interfering presence. With valuable help from Lotus, his Nubian sorceress of a wife, Setau had become so involved in the economic development of the southern province that every single tribe was now productive, and not the least conflict between them! The viceroy never would have believed it was possible.
Furthermore, Setau had won respect among the building trades as he dotted the countryside with temples and chapels to the glory of Pharaoh and his patron deities. It was Setau, too, who had made improvements in farming, established tax rolls, and collected revenues!
The viceroy had to face facts: this aging snake charmer, whom he had considered a harmless eccentric, was turning out to be a capable administrator. If Setau continued to get such remarkable results, the viceroy’s own position would become untenable. Accused of incompetence and laziness, he would be recalled.
Negotiating with Setau was impossible. Stubborn, refusing to slow his pace, Ramses’ old friend would scoff at a compromise. The viceroy hadn’t even considered bribing him; Setau and Lotus lived simply, in contact with the natives, and displayed no apparent taste for luxury.
There was only one solution: a fatal accident, carefully arranged so that nothing would seem suspicious. That was why the viceroy had asked a Nubian ex-convict to meet him at Abu Simbel. The man had a long police record and no discernible conscience. Recently released from jail again, he also needed money.
The night was dark. Forming the facade of the great temple, the four colossal seated statues that embodied Ramses’ ka looked off into the distance, seeing time and space as human eyes could never see them.
The Nubian was waiting. He had a narrow forehead, prominent cheekbones, full lips, and an impressive spear.
“I’m the viceroy.”
“I know. I saw you once at the fortress where I was in prison.”
“I need your help.”
“I hunt for my village now. I’m settling down.”
“You’re lying. I have evidence that implicates you in a robbery.”
Furious, the Nubian sank his spear in the ground.
“What kind of evidence?”
“If you don’t cooperate, you’ll go back to jail for good. But do as I say and you’ll be rich.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Someone is standing in my way; you’ll help me get rid of him.”
“A Nubian?”
“No, an Egyptian.”
“The price will be high, then.”
“You’re in no position to bargain,” the viceroy said crisply.
“Who’s my mark?”
“Setau.”
The Nubian grabbed his spear and waved it at the sky. “He’s worth a fortune!”
“You’ll be well paid, as long as Setau’s death is made to look like an accident.”
“Understood.”
The viceroy suddenly swayed and plopped down on his behind. The Nubian’s whoop of laughter was cut short when the same thing happened to him. The two men tried scrambling to their feet, but again lost their balance.
“The ground is moving,” exclaimed the Nubian. “The Earth God is angry!”
The cliff emitted a groan. The statues shook. Paralyzed with fear, the viceroy and his hireling saw one of the colossal heads break loose.
Ramses’ face flew toward the criminals and crushed them beneath its weight.
Dame Tanit was desperate. It had been more than a week since Uri-Teshoop last made love to her. He left early every morning, galloped through the countryside all day long, came home exhausted, wolfed down his dinner, and fell asleep without a word to her.
Tanit had only dared question him once, and he’d struck her so hard she’d almost lost consciousness. The comely Phoenician found comfort only with her little tabby cat. She’d lost all interest in her once-thriving business.
A horse’s trot . . . Uri-Teshoop was home.
He appeared, a hungry look in his eye. “Come here, sweetheart!”
Tanit ran to her lover’s arms. He ripped off her dress and pushed her down on a pile of cushions. “Darling . . . you’ve come back to me!” she sighed.
Uri-Teshoop’s rampant desire overwhelmed her.
“What’s been bothering you?” she asked when it was over.
“I thought I’d been abandoned . . . but Malfi is still alive and at work on the Libyan front. One of his men got in touch with me; there’s hope again. The battle goes on, Tanit, and Ramses can’t be invulnerable.”
“Forgive me for saying so, darling, but Malfi frightens me.”
“The Hittites have turned into cowards. Only the Libyans can bring them to their senses, and Malfi’s the man for the job. We have no other choice than a fight to the death . . . And count on me to win it!”
Tanit slept, sated with pleasure. Sitting on a caned chair in the garden, Uri-Teshoop, his head full of bloodthirsty dreams, gazed at the rising moon and asked for its help.
“I can be of more use than a heavenly body,” a feminine voice said behind him.
The fallen prince whirled around.
“Mathor! What are you doing here? It’s a risk . . .”
“The queen still has the right to go where she pleases.”
“You seem disillusioned . . . Has Ramses repudiated you?”
“No, of course not!”
“Then why have you come here in secret, cousin?”
The beautiful young woman lifted her eyes to the starry skies.
“You were right, Uri-Teshoop. I’m a Hittite and that’s what I’ll always be. Ramses will never truly accept me as Great Royal Wife. I’ll never be the equal of Nefertari.”
Mathor couldn’t restrain her sobs. Uri-Teshoop tried to comfort her, but she waved him away.
“I’m stupid . . . Why cry over defeat? That’s for the weak of heart. A Hittite princess has no right to bemoan her fate.”
“You and I were born to conquer.”
“Ramses humiliated me,” confessed Mathor. “He treated me like a servant. I loved him, I was ready to become a great queen, I did as he bade me, but he wouldn’t have me.”
“And you want revenge?”
“I’m not sure what I want.”
“Wake up, Mathor! Allowing Ramses to shame you would be the coward’s way out. You’re made of better stuff than that. Just coming here means you’ve already made your decision.”
“Careful, Uri-Teshoop!”
“I won’t be careful any longer! Hatti hasn’t been humbled yet. There’s still time to act. I have powerful allies, Mathor, and we have a common enemy: Ramses.”
“Ramses is my husband.”
“No, he’s a tyrant who’s scorned and rejected you. Do what I’m asking, Mathor. You can get your hands on the poison.”
Kill her dream . . . Could Mathor throw away the future she’d so desired, destroy the man she’d loved so passionately, the Pharaoh of Egypt?
“Make up your mind,” ordered Uri-Teshoop.
The queen vanished into the night.
A smile on his lips, the Hittite warrior went up to the roof terrace, closer to the moon, where he could thank the goddess.
“Who goes there?” he said at the sound of footsteps behind him.
“It’s me, darling.”
Uri-Teshoop grabbed Tanit by the throat.
“Were you spying on us?”
“No, I—”
“You heard everything, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I’ll never tell, I swear it!”
“Of course, sweetheart. You’d never make such a fatal error. Look, Tanit, look!”
From under his tunic flashed an iron dagger. He pointed it at the moon.
“Take a good look at this knife. It’s the one that killed Ramses’ friend Ahsha. It’s the one that I’ll use to kill Pharaoh. And y
ou too, if you cross me.”
FORTY-FOUR
To celebrate his birthday, Ramses had planned a dinner with his two sons, Kha and Merenptah, as well as his old and faithful friend Ahmeni. The scribe asked the palace chef to surprise the Pharaoh with his favorite dish of beef and fish in special marinade, served with a special vintage dating back to Year Three of Seti’s reign.
Fortunately for the future of Egypt, no rivalry existed between Kha and Merenptah. The elder son, a theologian and priest, pursued his quest for knowledge studying ancient texts and the monuments of the past; the younger son was a general, watching over the safety of the realm. No other royal son possessed their maturity, high standards, and statesmanship. When he decided the time had come, Ramses would designate his successor with an easy mind.
Yet no one even considered succeeding Ramses. At sixty, he still drew admiring glances from the palace beauties. What was more, his renown had long since spread beyond Egypt’s borders. Storytellers repeated his legend from southern Nubia to the island of Crete. Was he not the world’s most powerful sovereign, the Son of Light, the great builder? The gods had never showered so many gifts on a single human.
“Let’s drink to the glory of Ramses,” proposed Ahmeni.
“No,” objected the monarch. “Let’s drink to Egypt, our home, the earthly image of heaven.”
The four men shared an abiding love for the country they had served all their lives, a land and culture so full of marvels.
“Why isn’t Meritamon here?” asked Kha.
“She’s playing music for the gods as we speak. That was her wish, and I respect it.”
“You didn’t invite Mathor,” remarked Merenptah.
“She’s gone to live at the harem of Merur.”
“What?” said Ahmeni in amazement. “I thought I just saw her in the palace kitchens.”
“She was supposed to be gone by now. Ahmeni, look into this for me tomorrow. See that she’s on her way. Merenptah, have you learned anything more about Libya?”
“Nothing new, Your Majesty. It seems that Malfi is a madman and his dream of conquest is only a delusion.”
“The Giza ghost has disappeared,” Kha reported. “The stonemasons are back at work.”
The palace steward came in and presented the king with a dispatch. Bearing Setau’s personal seal, it was labeled “Urgent.”
Ramses broke the seal, unrolled the papyrus, read his friend’s brief message, and got to his feet.
“I’m leaving for Abu Simbel at once. You can finish without me.”
But Kha, Merenptah, and Ahmeni didn’t linger; none of them touched the special dinner. The chef briefly considered sharing it with his assistants, but this was the royal meal. Eating it would be improper; it would also be pilfering. Regretfully, the chef dumped the contents of the platter—including the poison that Uri-Teshoop had provided and Mathor had sprinkled into the food.
Once again, Ramses fell under the spell of Nubia. The clear air and sheer blue sky; the enchanting green of palm trees and the thin strip of cultivated land that the Nile carved out of the desert; the flight of pelicans, cranes, flamingos and ibises; the scent of mimosa; the ocher magic of the hills: all put the soul in touch with the hidden forces of nature.
Ramses did not leave the bow of the cutter taking him to Abu Simbel. He had kept his escort to a minimum and had handpicked a tireless crew of elite sailors, familiar with the dangers of navigating the Nile.
Not far from their destination, the monarch took refreshment in his cabin, seated on a folding chair with ivory-encrusted feet in the shape of ducks’ heads. Suddenly the boat slowed.
Ramses hailed the captain.
“What’s going on?”
“There’s a herd of crocodiles on the banks, all of them twenty feet long, at least! And hippos in the water. For the moment, we can’t go forward. I’d even advise Your Majesty to disembark. The beasts look nervous. They may attack.”
“Steady as she goes, Captain.”
“But Your Majesty . . .” he protested weakly.
“Nubia is a land of miracles.”
The sailors set to work, their nerves taut.
The hippos stirred in the water. On the riverbank, an enormous crocodile shook its tail, slithered forward with frightening speed, then stopped again.
A huge bull elephant trumpeted, parting the low branches of an acacia tree with his trunk. Ramses had felt his old friend’s presence even before he emerged, sending flocks of birds skyward and terrifying the sailors.
Some of the crocodiles took refuge in half-submerged reeds; others charged at the hippos. The struggle was brief but violent; then the Nile grew calm once more.
The big bull trumpeted again, calling to Ramses, who waved back. Many years earlier Seti’s son had saved the elephant as a wounded calf. More than once, the great beast had returned the favor.
“Shouldn’t we capture that monster and bring it back home?” suggested the captain.
“We should value its freedom as we do our own,” replied the king.
Two rocky outcroppings, a backwater with golden sand, a valley between the cliff ’s twin spurs, acacias scenting the shimmering air, the spellbinding beauty of Nubian sandstone . . . Ramses felt a stab of pain arriving at Abu Simbel’s perfect site, for here was the monument to his eternal union with Nefertari.
As the king had feared, Setau’s description of the damage was accurate. The temple had definitely suffered an earthquake, with the face and torso of one of the four colossal statues toppled.
Setau and Lotus greeted the monarch.
“Was anyone hurt?” asked Ramses.
“There were two casualties: the Viceroy of Nubia and an ex-convict.”
“What were they doing together?”
“I have no idea.”
“What happened inside?”
“See for yourself.”
Ramses entered the larger sanctuary. In the great hall, damaged pillars had already been propped up.
“Has Nefertari’s temple suffered as well?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“The gods have been merciful, Setau.”
“We’ll set straight to work, and every trace of this disaster will disappear. The statue will be the hardest. I have several plans to submit to you.”
“Don’t try to repair it.”
“You’re going to leave the facade in such a state?”
“This earthquake was a message from the Earth God. Since he decided to redo the facade, let’s leave it the way he wants.”
Pharaoh’s decision shocked Setau, but Ramses would not be dissuaded. Only three intact colossi would perpetuate the royal ka; the mutilated fourth statue would serve as a reminder of the imperfection inherent in human endeavors. The shattered stone giant would not detract from the majestic whole, but rather would reinforce the power and might of its three companions.
The king, Setau, and Lotus dined at the foot of a palm tree. The snake charmer had not asked the monarch to daub himself with asafetida, a resin from the root of the Persian ferula plant, so evil-smelling that it repelled snakes. Instead, he had given him red berries from a shrub containing an antidote to poison.
“You’ve increased the quantity of divine offerings,” said Ramses to Setau. “You’ve filled the granaries to bursting, established peace in this turbulent region, built places of worship all over Nubia, and everywhere championed truth over lies. What would you think of representing Ma’at as the province’s chief justice?”
“But that’s the viceroy’s prerogative!”
“I know that, old friend. And you’re the new Viceroy of Nubia, named by decree in this thirty-eighth year of my reign.”
Setau searched for a way to refuse, but Ramses allowed him no time to answer.
“You can’t turn me down. The earthquake was a sign to you. Your existence is moving into another dimension, Setau. You know how much I love this country; take good care of it for me.”
The snake charmer wandered off
into the fragrant night. He needed to be alone to digest the fact that he was now one of Ramses’ most important administrators.
“May I ask an impertinent question, Your Majesty?” said Lotus.
“It’s a special night, isn’t it?”
“Why did you wait so long to appoint Setau as viceroy?”
“He was unconsciously learning how to run the province. It’s become his vocation; now he’s ready to answer the call that gradually came to him. No one has been able to corrupt or slander him, since his will to serve Nubia informs his every action. And he needed time to find it out.”
FORTY-FIVE
Alone, Ramses entered the great temple of Abu Simbel to celebrate the rites of dawn. The monarch followed the beam of light that led to the naos, or inner sanctum. It fell first on the seated statues of Amon and the royal ka, then those of the royal ka and Ra. Pharaoh—the gods’ earthly representative, not the man—acted in concert with the hidden god Amon and the divine light of Ra, the two great creators forging a complete entity under the name of Amon-Ra.
The fourth statue, of the god Ptah, remained in shadow. As the son of Ptah, Ramses was the builder of his realm and his people. Through Ptah he transmitted the Word that made all things real. The king thought of his son Kha, the god’s high priest, who had chosen to plumb this very mystery.
When the monarch emerged from the temple, a soft light bathed the tree-lined esplanade. The Nubian sandstone began to glow, its warm gold like the flesh of the gods. Ramses headed for the temple dedicated to Nefertari, for whom the sun rose.
And this sun, Egypt’s nourishing father, would rise until the end of time for the Great Royal Wife who had graced the Two Lands with her beauty and wisdom.
The queen, immortalized by sculptors and painters, made Ramses wish he could pass to the great beyond and be with her once more. He begged her to take him by the hand, to spring from these walls where she lived on, eternally young and beautiful, along with her brother gods and sister goddesses, making the fields turn green and the Nile sparkle. But Nefertari, sailing in the bark of the sun, merely smiled at Ramses. The king’s work on earth was not finished. A pharaoh, no matter what his human suffering, belonged to the heavenly powers and to his people. As an imperishable star, Nefertari the sweet and wise would continue to guide Ramses’ footsteps in line with the law of Ma’at, until such time as the great goddess finally granted him rest.
Ramses, Volume V Page 22
