Fall of the House of Ramesses, Book 2: Seti

by Max Overton

  "Wait here," Messuwy instructed the Kushite captain.

  "Where Sethi goes, I go," Tarqa declared.

  "These men have been summoned by the Hem-netjer of Amun," the priest said to Tarqa. "You have not."

  "Nevertheless, I will accompany Sethi, for I am charged with his custody."

  The priest sighed. "Captain, you are not invited into his holy presence, so you will wait here or suffer the consequences."

  Tarqa looked uncertain. "Consequences?"

  "Nobody enters the Hem-netjer's presence unbidden. If you persist, I will summon priests to send you quickly to the ground." The priest smiled and indicated the window that looked out on the temple pylons and hypostyle hall, and further away, the river and western cliffs. "Come, you are a loyal soldier of Amun and I know you do not want to cause offence. Let me send for food and drink and you may take your ease while these gentlemen are with the Hem-netjer."

  Tarqa gave in and watched as Messuwy and Sethi passed beyond the heavy curtains into the presence of the Hem-netjer.

  "Welcome, Lord Messuwy." Roma-Rui smiled and added, "Or should I perhaps say 'Son of Re'?"

  "What have you heard?" Messuwy asked sharply. "You have news?"

  Roma-Rui nodded.

  "I have heard little, despite my network of spies," Sethi said. "It is possible the king is dead, but that is all."

  "The king is dead," Roma-Rui stated. "Of that you can be sure. As to the rest, there is a measure of uncertainty. Prince Seti remains in the palace and is thought to be investigating the manner of his father's death. I imagine he hopes to lay the blame at your door, Lord Messuwy."

  Sethi shrugged. "It is of no concern. No matter how hard they dig, they will find it hard to provide proof of our involvement in the king's death, and without it Messuwy son of Merenptah has an excellent claim to the throne of the Double Kingdom."

  "Not as good as if Prince Seti had died too," Roma-Rui said. "If that had occurred as planned, then none could deny him his rights."

  "There is no good weeping over what might have been," Sethi said. "We must decide what to do now, before any support for the young prince can arise."

  "None will support him over me," Messuwy declared. "I am the eldest son of the king."

  "But not the Heir," Sethi pointed out. "In fact, you have no official position within the kingdoms. Make no mistake, my lord, the north will declare for Seti. Our only real hope is to declare for the rightful king here in the south and be prepared to fight for what is ours."

  "That is a bold plan," Roma-Rui declared, "but can you back it up with soldiers? You will need an army."

  "Who would dare march against their rightful king?" Messuwy asked.

  "Many would," the Hem-netjer replied. "So where is your army?"

  "There is the Amun legion..."

  "Which is under the control of Tjaty Neferronpet and Commander Merenkhons."

  "Merenkhons? Who is he loyal to?" Sethi asked.

  "Difficult to say. He works closely with Neferronpet though."

  "Then we must do away with them both."

  "There are junior officers loyal to Amun, but even if you should claim their loyalty you will need more than one legion to counter Seti's army."

  "There is the Kushite legion. It is at full strength and more men could probably be raised at short notice," Sethi said.

  "They are under the command of King's Son of Kush, Khaemter. Can you be certain of his support?" Roma-Rui asked.

  "Of course," Messuwy said at once.

  "Perhaps," Sethi corrected. "Openly, he is loyal to the king, but in private he has indicated he will favour my lord Messuwy."

  "We must make certain of him," Roma-Rui said. "To move against Prince Seti with only one legion would be suicidal."

  "You were happy enough to do it before," Messuwy grumbled. "What has changed? Or are you losing heart?"

  The Hem-netjer of Amun scowled. "I am guided in all things by the will of Amun. He has made it plain that he will support you as king, but he requires us to make you king in the first place. Our original plan called for the death of the king and the Heir, leaving only you as candidate for the throne. The king is most likely dead, but the Heir is not. This puts a completely different complexion on things. With the Heir dead, men would flock to your standard, with him alive, the north with follow him and, I think, the south too. All you have to support you is the goodwill of the god, the Amun legion, and possibly the Kushite legion. I'm just saying it might not be enough."

  "I have a natural claim to the throne," Messuwy said. "My father was Baenre Merenptah and I am his eldest son. On top of that, I have the support of Amun. The people must accept that."

  "Fornicate the people," Sethi said. "They are cattle and unimportant. They will do as they are told or suffer the consequences. It is the nobles we must convince."

  "How do we do that?"

  "Gold. You must be prepared to be generous."

  "I am not a wealthy man," Messuwy complained.

  "What? Despite all the gold you have skimmed off the king's mines in Kush?" Sethi laughed. "You are wealthier than you know, but you don't have to part with much gold if it distresses you. Promises will turn many heads, promises of land and position once you are king."

  "Well, that's all right then. Get to it, Sethi. Deliver me the nobles and perhaps I'll make you my Tjaty."

  "You are most generous, my lord," Sethi said. He sketched a bow to disguise the anger he felt. "I would rather remain by your side though."

  Messuwy laughed. "Too much opportunity to enrich yourself, eh? You'd prefer to let another man busy himself with the affairs of government while you plunder the king's mines. Well, just remember that I will be king, and that those mines will be delivering the gold to my treasury. I don't want my servants stealing from me."

  A muscle jumped in Sethi's jaw as he lowered his eyes. "I merely wish to serve you, my lord. Your good will is reward enough."

  Roma-Rui coughed, wishing to spare Sethi the embarrassment being heaped upon him by Messuwy. "So we must delay announcing your succession it seems, but for how long? If we move too soon we risk not having support, but if we wait too long, Seti will crown himself king and we become mere rebels."

  "I cannot risk claiming the throne if nobody supports me," Messuwy declared. "I need an army." He glared at Sethi. "If I have so much gold, I should be able to buy one."

  "It is easy enough to buy men," Sethi said, "but they will be of dubious quality. If a man once sells himself for gold, more gold might buy him again. Such men cannot be relied upon."

  "So buy me soldiers. Round up a few thousand Kushite tribesmen and arm them, promising them gold and cattle once they have conquered Kemet for me."

  "As my lord commands."

  "And how long will that take?" Roma-Rui asked.

  "A few months," Sethi replied.

  "That long?" The disappointment was heavy in Messuwy's voice.

  "Such things cannot be hurried."

  "So we must delay after all?" Roma-Rui asked. "And become rebels?"

  A smile tugged at Sethi's lips as he regarded the Hem-netjer. "They will call us rebels until we succeed, and then none will dare."

  A priest coughed gently from beyond the curtains and slipped into the room, bowing toward the Hem-netjer. "A messenger comes from the north, Hem-netjer. The vessel flies the royal banner."

  "What does that mean?" Messuwy demanded.

  "Official news from Men-nefer," Roma-Rui said. "I would hazard it carries news of the king's death and Seti's accession."

  "What do we do?"

  "There is nothing you can do, Lord Messuwy," Roma-Rui said. "Bow to the inevitable, for now. Greet the messenger, attend upon Tjaty Neferronpet and pretend joy at your brother's imminent enthronement. As for you, Sethi, I advise you to flee ahead of the news, else you will be arrested. This priest will show you a way out that avoids the soldiers waiting for you."

  Chapter 4

  Year 1 of Userkheperure Seti

 
Tjaty Neferronpet was in an ill humour, having spent much of the previous night suffering from a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. Every time he lay down, burning fluid would rise into his throat, forcing him upright again. He nibbled on a little dry bread, hoping it would soak up the fluid, but the respite it provided was only temporary. From past experience, Neferronpet knew there was a more lasting remedy, but it inevitably ruined his digestion the next day, so he resisted the temptation to call the physician. As the moon set he was able to put it off no longer and gagged on the clay-based slurry the physician offered him. It calmed the burning sensation but sat like a stone in his belly, and he knew he would find it hard to digest his food the next day. Rest was more important though, so the Tjaty snatched a little sleep before dawn.

  His spies brought him interesting news mid-morning, and he broke off the court case he had been adjudicating with relief. It was all he could do to remain awake during the long speeches by plaintiff and defendant, so he hurriedly adjourned to consider the news. Lord Messuwy, eldest son of Baenre, would be docking at Waset sometime after noon, and his servant Sethi had been seen in the city. He could not help but think the two facts were connected.

  "Send for Commander Merenkhons," he instructed a servant.

  When the commander of the Amun legion arrived with his adjutant, he told them of the news he had received. "I want Sethi arrested. He is still wanted for questioning concerning possible traitorous actions."

  "Lord Messuwy too?" Merenkhons asked.

  Neferronpet considered carefully and shook his head. "Not without evidence of wrongdoing. He may hold no official position but he is still the king's eldest son. Just arrest Sethi on those old charges of aiding the Ribu and put him in the dungeons."

  "Those charges were never proved," Merenkhons said. "if they could be, the king would have moved against him long ago."

  "It doesn't matter, it'll be enough to arrest him. Then I'll notify the king and see what he wants done."

  Merenkhons sent the adjutant off with his instructions, and joined the Tjaty in a light meal of beef, bread and beer. They sat out on a veranda where cool river breezes eased the heat of the day.

  "No news from court?" Merenkhons asked.

  Neferronpet looked up sharply, his eyebrows coming together. "A strange question coming from you. Why do you ask?"

  "Forgive me, Tjaty, I did not mean to pry into official business, but everyone knows Men-nefer has been shut up tighter than a roach's arse for days. Something's going on and I wondered if you'd heard anything."

  "I dare say we'll know when we're meant to know."

  "Of course." Merenkhons stared into his cup and swirled the creamy beer for a few moments. "It's just that there's a rumour the king's dead."

  Neferronpet stared at the Amun legion commander. "I wouldn't go voicing that around."

  "You must have heard the rumours though."

  A twinge of pain stabbed in his gut, and the Tjaty turned away, massaging his belly. "Rumours," he muttered. "Dangerous rumours."

  "Even more so if he really is. Perhaps that's why Messuwy has come to Waset."

  "He'd be better off going to Men-nefer if his father's dead. Why come to...gods preserve us...he wouldn't..."

  "What?"

  "The bastard's going to bid for the throne."

  Merenkhons smiled. "A bastard he is not. He's the eldest son of Baenre..."

  "But not the Heir, and that fact has rankled ever since he was passed over. This is his chance, while there's no word from the capital."

  "You worry too much, Neferronpet. He cannot claim the throne without the army at his back and the Amun legion is loyal."

  "You are certain of this?"

  "Of course. I am the Commander and I am loyal to the king and the Heir."

  "And are you equally certain of all your officers? Your men?"

  "They will do as they're told."

  "Need I point out that the leadership of the legion could change between one breath and the next? I'd hate to see you lose your life because of another man's ambition."

  Merenkhons grimaced. "Sethi is being arrested as we speak. Do you want me to have Messuwy arrested too? I could do it, you know."

  Neferronpet shook his head, stifling a belch. "Too dangerous. He has supporters within the city. No, I must send word of the situation to Men-nefer and wait for orders."

  "Well, there are a few things we can do in the meantime," Commander Merenkhons said. "I'll confine the legion to barracks and have the officers whose loyalty is in any doubt relieved of duties. I can lock the city up tight until we hear what's happening."

  Merenkhons left the palace to set about securing the city, and Neferronpet sought out his physician. The physician listened intently to the list of symptoms the Tjaty described and mixed up a further series of potions to alleviate the feeling of sickness that had resulted from the clay slurry imbibed earlier. A servant held a bowl while Neferronpet vomited, and then the physician examined the vomitus, stirring the thin liquid with his forefinger. He sniffed the fluid and wiped it on his robe before signalling the servant to take it away.

  "Your stomach contents are excessively sour, my lord. I will prepare you some clay pills you can take if you suffer again from the burning affliction, but you must watch your diet. Avoid meat and fish, partake of no bread, nor beer and wine."

  "You mean to starve me?" Neferronpet grumbled.

  "Drink only plain river water," the physician went on. "You may eat most vegetables, but make sure you take plenty of lettuce and onions, garlic, melons, cucumber, and dried dates and figs."

  The Tjaty felt hungry after emptying his stomach, and the thought of a meatless diet made him irritable, to say nothing of having to do without good strong wine from his own vineyards. He sent orders to the kitchens for a variety of vegetables and fruit, but also for a roasted goose and some fatty beef. Servants brought him wine and cool river water, and he took his lunch on a secluded veranda, reading through various letters from the governors and mayors of the southern cities. Despite his irritation and hunger, he took some heed of the physician's words and only ate meat moderately and watered his wine.

  A discreet knock on the doorpost took his attention away from the troubles of the mayor of Ta-Senet, who complained of depredations on outlying farms by desert dwellers. He made a quick note to follow up on this complaint, and looked up to see who disturbed him.

  "Forgive me, Excellency," a servant said. "A vessel is approaching the royal wharf, a messenger boat, flying the royal banner."

  Neferronpet put aside his scrolls and the remnants of his lunch and got to his feet, feeling excitement building inside him. "Call out the guard," he instructed. "I will go to the docks to meet the messenger."

  A short time later, Neferronpet emerged onto the royal wharf, slightly out of breath, just in time to see the messenger leap from the boat and be greeted by Messuwy. He pushed forward in alarm, telling his guard to follow close behind.

  "Lord Messuwy, what are you doing here?"

  Messuwy turned and stared at the slightly dishevelled Tjaty. "I came to see if there is news of my royal father. What is that to you?"

  Neferronpet looked past Messuwy to the messenger. "You have letters for me? Tjaty of the South, Neferronpet?"

  "Yes, Excellency," the messenger said, bowing deeply with hands extended.

  "And for anyone else?" Messuwy asked.

  The messenger looked sidelong at Messuwy and hesitated, looking back at the Tjaty. Neferronpet nodded and the man said, "No, my lord."

  "Then come up to the palace and you can deliver your letters," Neferronpet said. He turned and ushered the messenger toward his guards. Messuwy followed, and the Tjaty turned back to him.

  "Forgive me, my lord," he said. "There are messages I must attend to..."

  "Which might be from my father the king."

  "Indeed. And you may be sure that if they concern you, I will send for you to make his wishes known."

  Messuwy bristled at
the idea that he would be sent for like any lowly servant, but could think of no retaliatory argument. Instead, he scowled and watched the Tjaty hurry off to the palace with the royal messenger.

  Neferronpet took the messenger back out onto the veranda, accepted the written message from the sealed pouch, and indicated the food and drink from his meal. "Please eat and drink as you will while I read this letter." He broke the seal on the papyrus scroll and carried it to the steps down into the palace garden before opening it and reading.

  He read silently, though his lips moved as he sounded out each syllable. As the import of the words sunk into his understanding, he put his hand to his head, his mouth dropping open in shock. He looked over at the messenger gainfully working his way through a platter of roast goose, and asked, "Do you know what's in this letter?"

  The messenger looked up, swallowed and wiped his chin with one hand as he stood up. "Begging your pardon, Excellency, but...er, sort of. I mean, I don't know what's in the letter, exactly like, but I can guess."

  "It's true then? The king is dead? Poisoned?"

  "He's dead, Excellency, yes. As to how, well, nobody's said for sure. The court's as busy as a kicked anthill though, so something's up."

  "All right," Neferronpet said. "Go back to your meal." He called for a servant and told him to find Merenkhons immediately.

  The servant bowed low. "Excellency, Lord Messuwy awaits your pleasure."

  Neferronpet considered for a few moments and then told the servant to show Lord Messuwy into the audience chamber. "Then go and find Commander Merenkhons. Tell him to attend on me urgently."

  Leaving instructions for the messenger to be allowed to finish his meal and then be shown to a private room, the Tjaty walked through the palace to the audience chamber where he often heard disputes in his capacity as the king's deputy in Ta Shemau. There was a raised throne in the chamber to seat the king should he ever visit Waset, and a slightly smaller one the Tjaty occupied during formal occasions. Neferronpet's jaw tightened as he entered the chamber and found Messuwy waiting for him, seated on the royal throne.