Ramses, Volume V

by Christian Jacq

  The day was waning when Nefertari’s magic sent the king back to the outside world, the world where he must not falter.

  On the esplanade were hundreds of Nubians in ceremonial dress. Wearing bright red headdresses, golden earrings, full-length white robes, and flowered kilts, the tribal chiefs and their retinue had come bearing gifts—panther skins, gold rings, ivory, ebony, ostrich eggs and plumes, sacks full of precious stones, and fans.

  Accompanied by Setau, the designated elder advanced toward Ramses.

  “Praise be the Son of Light.”

  “Praise be the sons of Nubia who have chosen peace,” replied Ramses. “May the twin temples of Abu Simbel, so dear to my heart, become the symbol of your union with Egypt.”

  “Your Majesty, all Nubia already knows that you have named Setau as viceroy.”

  A heavy silence reigned. If the tribal chiefs disapproved of the decision, trouble would brew again. But Ramses would stand firm, knowing that his friend was born to run the province and help it prosper.

  The tribal elder turned to Setau, who was clad in his well-worn antelope-skin tunic.

  “We thank Ramses the Great for choosing this man who knows how to save lives, who has won our hearts by speaking from his own.”

  Moved to tears, Setau made a deep bow to his sovereign.

  And what he saw terrified him: a horned viper slithering beneath the sand, heading straight for the king’s foot.

  Setau tried to warn Ramses, but the Nubian dignitaries were crowding around him, hoisting him on their shoulders. Their cheering drowned out his frantic shouts.

  As the viper reared to strike, a white ibis swooped out of nowhere, then soared away with the snake in its beak.

  Those who saw the scene had no doubt: the god Thoth, in the guise of a sacred bird, had saved the monarch’s life. And since Thoth had blessed the occasion, Viceroy Setau’s administration was sure to be just and wise.

  Finally extricating himself from his supporters, Setau spoke to the king.

  “To think that viper—”

  “What were you afraid of, after the way you’ve immunized me? Have a little more faith in yourself, old friend.”

  Twice as bad, if not three times, or ten! Yes, it was much worse than Setau had ever imagined. Since his appointment, he had been overwhelmed with work, hearing a thousand and one petitions, each request more pressing than the last. In a matter of days, he discovered just how brazen people could be when it came to defending their own interests.

  Much as he wanted to fulfill his new mandate from the king, Setau was tempted to resign. Catching dangerous reptiles was easier than resolving conflicts between rival factions.

  But the new Viceroy of Nubia had help from two unexpected sources. Lotus, always capable in the field as well as in bed, now proved a competent administrator as well. Her beauty, intact despite the years, also proved a useful distraction during discussions with warring tribal chiefs.

  His second ally was even more surprising: Ramses himself. The monarch’s presence at Setau’s initial discussions with commanders from the Egyptian border fortresses was crucial. The officers, narrow-minded as they were, understood that Setau was no figurehead and had the king’s full support. Yet Ramses said not a single word, letting his friend shine.

  At the end of the new viceroy’s inaugural at the fortress of Buhen, Setau and Ramses walked on the ramparts.

  “I’ve never been good at thank-yous,” confessed Setau, “but . . .”

  “Nothing could have kept you from this job; I may have helped you end up in it a little faster, that’s all.”

  “You’ve given me your magic, Ramses, and that’s a force nothing could replace.”

  “Your love for this country has taken over your life, and you’ve accepted that fact because you’re a true warrior, as ardent and uncompromising as Nubia.”

  “A warrior you’ve sent to make peace?”

  “Peace is the best food of all, isn’t it?”

  “You’ll have to be leaving soon, Ramses.”

  “You’re the viceroy. Your wife is remarkable. The two of you will do wonders for Nubia.”

  “Will you be back again?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you love it here as much as I do.”

  “If I lived here, I’d sit beneath a palm tree along the Nile, facing the desert, and watch the sun while I thought of Nefertari, without a care for affairs of state.”

  “I’m only now realizing how much is on your shoulders.”

  “Because you no longer belong to yourself, Setau.”

  “But you’re so much stronger than I am, Majesty. Won’t this burden be too much for me to bear?”

  “Your snakes taught you how to master fear. Nubia will teach you how to wield power without becoming a slave to it.”

  Serramanna kept in training with a punching bag, archery, running, and swimming. Yet the extra exercise could not cool his hatred for Uri-Teshoop. The Hittite had kept his head, never committing the slip that the Sard had hoped for, never giving him grounds for an arrest. And his unlikely marriage let him hide behind a cloak of respectability.

  As Ramses’ bodyguard said his goodbyes to a superb Nubian dancing girl whose playful sensuality had provided some relief, one of his subordinates burst into the room.

  “Have you eaten, boy?” Serramanna asked.

  “No, sir.”

  “Nile perch, kidney pie, stuffed pigeons, fresh vegetables . . . how does that sound?”

  “Fine, sir.”

  “I can’t hear a thing when I’m hungry. Let’s eat, then you’ll report to me.”

  When their meal was finished, Serramanna stretched out on some cushions.

  “What brings you here, my lad?”

  “I did what you told me, sir, and watched Dame Tanit’s house while she was away. A man with wavy hair and a striped outfit came to the gate three times.”

  “Did you follow him?”

  “That wasn’t in your orders, sir.”

  “Can’t fault you, then.”

  “Well, the third time, I just had to see where he was going. I hope you’re not mad.”

  Serramanna rose and clapped his huge hand on the young mercenary’s shoulder.

  “Good job, my boy! Sometimes it’s best to ignore your orders. What did you find out?”

  “I know where he lives.”

  FORTY-SIX

  It took Serramanna some time to decide. Should he go ahead and make this suspect talk, or would it be better to consult Ahmeni first? In the past he wouldn’t have hesitated, but the former pirate had become an Egyptian; now it seemed to him that respect for the law was the glue that held society together. So the Sard appeared in Ahmeni’s office when he knew that the scribe would be alone, working by lamplight.

  Poring over wooden tablets, Ahmeni was supping on bean stew, fresh bread, and honey cakes. And still, by some miracle, he stayed thin as a reed.

  “When you come to see me so late,” he said to Serramanna, “it’s not a good sign.”

  “You’re wrong. I have an interesting lead, but I haven’t followed up yet.”

  Ahmeni was surprised.

  “Has the god Thoth taken you under his ibis wing, to make you so wise and cautious? You’ve done right, Serramanna. The vizier doesn’t bend the law, as you know.”

  “The suspect in question is a rich Phoenician, Narish. He called at Tanit’s villa several times; lives in a mansion himself.”

  “It could have been a social call, if they’re old acquaintances.”

  “Narish didn’t know that Tanit and Uri-Teshoop were away, touring the harems with the queen. Since they came back, he’s only been back once, in the middle of the night.”

  “Have you been keeping Tanit’s house under surveillance without official permission?”

  “Of course not, Ahmeni. I learned all this from a neighborhood watchman.”

  “You’re not only playing me for a fool, you’re acting like a diplomat! Bravo, Serramanna!”


  The scribe suddenly pushed his dish aside. “I’ve lost my appetite,” he announced.

  “Have I done something wrong?” the Sard asked anxiously.

  “No, you’ve done everything right. It’s the mention of Narish that worries me.”

  “He’s a wealthy man, and no doubt influential, but why would that affect his case?”

  “He’s more influential than you know. Narish is a trader from the city of Tyre, sent to work with our State Department to arrange the king’s upcoming visit to Phoenicia.”

  The Sard’s eyes blazed. “It’s a trap! Narish is in contact with Uri-Teshoop!”

  “He has business dealings with Dame Tanit; no one can prove that he’s in league with the Hittite.”

  “Let’s not be blind, Ahmeni.”

  “I’m in a difficult position. After several months spent establishing Setau’s authority in Nubia, Ramses has turned his attention to the northern protectorates and our trading partners there. He found that our ties to Phoenicia have weakened slightly, and hopes to reinforce them with an official tour. You know the king: the threat of assassination would never deter him from going.”

  “We have to pursue the investigation and prove that Narish is plotting with Uri-Teshoop!”

  “Did you think I’d tell you to wait and see?”

  The waters of the Nile reflected the gold of the setting sun. In the homes of rich and humble alike, the evening meal was being prepared. The souls of the dead, after traveling the sun’s course and feeding on its energy, drifted back to their eternal dwellings to find rebirth in another form of energy, that of silence.

  Yet tonight the guard dogs around the vast necropolis at Saqqara remained on alert, for there were two distinguished visitors on site, Ramses the Great and his son Kha, both unusually animated.

  “I’m so happy to welcome you to Saqqara, Your Majesty.”

  “Have you unearthed the Book of Thoth at last, son?”

  “We’re in the final phase of restoring the ancient monuments. As for the Book of Thoth, I’m piecing it together page by page; one of those pages is what I want to show you. While you were away in Nubia, the god Ptah kept my builders and stoneworkers busy.”

  His son’s obvious pleasure filled Ramses with happiness. Rarely had he seen Kha so joyous.

  The vast domain of Saqqara was dominated by the mother pyramid of Djoser and Imhotep, its steps forming a stairway to heaven. Yet it was not toward this extraordinary monument that Kha led his father. He took an untrodden path that snaked to the northwest of the pyramid.

  A chapel with raised columns, their bases bearing plaques to the gods and important state figures, marked the entry to an underground passageway flanked by two priests holding torches.

  “As a symbol of power, Pharaoh has always worn a bull’s tail in the waistband of his ceremonial kilt,” recalled Kha. “That power comes from the bull Apis, allowing the Lord of the Two Lands to overcome all obstacles. It was Apis who bore the mummy of Osiris on his back, reviving the god on his course through the heavens. I vowed to build a shrine to the dynasty of Apis bulls, in keeping with the greatness of their line. The work is now finished.”

  Preceded by the torch-bearing priests, the monarch and his elder son entered the underground shrine. Over the generations, the god’s soul had passed from bull to bull, transmitting his supernatural force without interruption. A series of chapels held their enormous sarcophagi. Mummified like humans, the Apis bulls were buried with treasures from their reigns—jewels, precious vases, even bull-headed shabti figurines that would magically come to life and serve them in the next world. The builders had dug impressive galleries linking the various chapels together.

  “Every day special celebrants will bring offerings here, so that the great soul of Apis may endow Pharaoh with the strength he needs. I’ve also built a sanatorium where patients will be housed in whitewashed rooms and undergo sleep cures. Won’t your chief physician, Neferet, be pleased?”

  “Your work is magnificent, son. It will last through the centuries.”

  “Here comes Apis now, Your Majesty.”

  Emerging from the darkness, a colossal black bull slowly advanced toward the Pharaoh. The reigning Apis moved like a beneficent monarch. Ramses remembered the terrifying moment when his father had brought him face to face with a wild bull, long ago on the outskirts of Abydos. So many years had passed since that decisive incident that had sealed his destiny as Son of Light . . .

  The bull came nearer, yet Ramses did not move.

  “Come to me in peace, brother.”

  Ramses touched the bull’s horn, and its rough tongue licked his hand.

  The upper-level State Department officials had greeted Ramses’ plans with the highest praise, congratulating the Pharaoh on his remarkable initiative, sure to be welcomed by all the principalities under the joint protection of Egypt and Hatti. No one uttered the slightest criticism or even a suggestion, for weren’t Ramses’ ideas divinely inspired?

  Entering the monarch’s office, Ahmeni immediately sensed his old friend’s mood.

  “Shall I summon Neferet, Your Majesty?”

  “I’m suffering from an illness even she can’t cure.”

  “Let me guess; you’re fed up with flattery?”

  “I’ve reigned for almost thirty-nine years now. Thirty-nine years of spineless and hypocritical courtiers, officials who sing my praises instead of thinking for themselves, and so-called directors who only follow my directions . . . It’s not a pretty picture.”

  “You’re just seeing all this now that you’re in your sixties? It’s not like you to be so pessimistic, Your Majesty. And you’re hurting my feelings. The gods may not have given me your breadth of vision, but I do express my own opinions.”

  Ramses smiled.

  “So you don’t think I should leave for Phoenicia?”

  “According to Serramanna, there’s a plot against you.”

  “That’s always a risk in the northern regions. But as long as my magic protects me, I’ve nothing to fear.”

  “Since Your Majesty is unlikely to cancel his plans, I’ll tighten security measures as much as possible. Must you really travel to Tyre? Our trade envoy can handle almost any problem.”

  “Are you underestimating the importance of my mission?”

  “So you have a hidden agenda?”

  “Your intelligence is a comfort, Ahmeni.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Uri-Teshoop rose late and took breakfast in the sunlit garden.

  “Where’s my wife?” he demanded of the steward.

  “Dame Tanit is attending to matters in town.”

  The Hittite prince was not pleased. Why hadn’t Tanit told him of her plans? As soon as she got home, he lashed out at her.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Now and then I have to look after my business.”

  “Who did you meet with?”

  “Another Phoenician.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, darling!”

  Uri-Teshoop slapped Tanit hard.

  “You . . . you hurt me!”

  “His name!”

  “Narish. He’s a rich merchant who wants to increase the volume of trade with Egypt. He’s here in Pi-Ramses to arrange the Pharaoh’s upcoming tour of Phoenicia.”

  Uri-Teshoop kissed his wife on the lips.

  “Fascinating, sweetheart. Why didn’t you tell me right away? You know it’s wrong to make me angry. When will you see this Narish again?”

  “We’ve already come to terms, and I—”

  “Come up with some new proposal and pump him about this tour of Phoenicia. You can charm anything out of a man.”

  Tanit tried to object, but Uri-Teshoop caught her in an embrace. Once again, she was under his spell; there was no resisting her lover’s desire.

  “All banquets have been canceled,” Tanit announced to Uri-Teshoop as he was having his manicure.

  “What ha
ppened?”

  “The Apis bull has just died. During the official mourning period, no feasting is allowed.”

  “A ridiculous custom!”

  “Not to the Egyptians.”

  Tanit dismissed the manicurist. “The Pharaoh’s strength is at stake,” she explained to her husband. “Within a few days he has to find another bull to become the new incarnation of Apis.”

  “Ramses won’t have any trouble.”

  “It’s not as easy as it sounds. The bull has to match a specific description.”

  “And what is that?”

  “You’d have to ask a priest involved in Apis worship.”

  “Get us invited to the funeral.”

  The last Apis bull had died in its pen at the temple in Memphis. Now its remains lay on a bier in the “pure room,” where a wake had been held, with Ramses and Kha in attendance. All night there were prayers for his resurrection. Apis, the magical power of Ptah, the god of builders, must be treated with all the consideration due his rank.

  When the mummification process was complete, the bull was placed on a solid wooden sledge and transferred to the royal barge for the journey on the Nile. Then a procession led to the underground burial chamber at Saqqara.

  Ramses performed the ceremony opening the animal’s mouth, ears, and eyes, bringing it back to life in the Golden Chamber. Neither Uri-Teshoop nor Tanit was allowed to observe these mysterious rites, but they did manage to meet a talkative priest, eager to show off his knowledge.

  “To be a candidate for Apis, a bull must have a black hide with white markings, a white blaze on its forehead, a crescent on the chest and another on the flank, plus a tail with both black and white hairs.”

  “Aren’t there plenty of animals that fit the description?”