Ramses, Volume II

by Christian Jacq

  “This nice hot weather helps my aching bones,” said Homer, stroking the flowing white beard that was such a contrast to his lined and craggy face. “Do you have storms like we do in Greece?”

  “Tremendous ones,” answered Ramses. “When our god Set unleashes his fury, dark clouds fill the sky, lightning flashes, thunder rumbles, and bolts crash to the ground. The rain floods dry riverbeds, sweeping rocks through the canyons. You’ll understand why Set is called ‘The Destroyer.’”

  “Wasn’t your father named for him?”

  “For a long time I couldn’t imagine why a pharaoh would place himself under the protection of the god who murdered Osiris, his own brother. Then I realized that Seti wanted to harness the powers of darkness and use them to do good.”

  “Strange, strange country! And it seems you’ve been having your own stormy weather, son.”

  “I didn’t know you could see from your garden to mine.”

  “My eyesight is failing, but my hearing is excellent.”

  “So you heard that your countrymen tried to eliminate me.”

  “The other day I wrote these lines: ‘I greatly fear that you will be caught tight in the enemy’s net, that you will all become their prey and spoils of war. They will sack your cities. Think on it night and day, fight on, if you wish to hold your heads high.’”

  “Are you a seer?”

  “I can guess why a future pharaoh would take time from his official duties to seek the opinion of an obscure old poet—not that I don’t appreciate your visits.”

  Ramses smiled. He liked the way Homer spoke his mind.

  “All right. Do you think the soldiers who came after me were acting alone or on orders from Menelaus?”

  “Beware of Greeks, my friend! Hatching plots is their favorite pastime. If Menelaus wants Helen, and you’re standing in his way, it’s goodbye Ramses.”

  “But I’m still here.”

  “Menelaus is as single-minded as he is unprincipled. He’ll keep trying, attack you in your own backyard, without a thought for the consequences.”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “Pack him off to Greece with Helen.”

  “She won’t go.”

  “Through no fault of her own, that woman sows death and destruction in her wake. If you think you can alter the course of her destiny, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “She’s free to choose where she lives.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. By the way, I could use some new papyrus and more of that wonderful olive oil.”

  Some might have said the white-bearded poet should be less brusque with his royal patron. Ramses, however, valued the old man’s frankness. There were yes-men to spare in the royal court.

  The moment Ramses walked through the gate to his wing of the palace, Ahmeni came running, in a most uncharacteristic state of agitation.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Menelaus,” Ahmeni panted.

  “What now?”

  “He’s taken hostages down at the harbor—dockworkers, women and children. Says he’ll kill them unless you deliver Helen to him today.”

  “Where is he?”

  “On his ship, with the hostages. His whole fleet is ready to sail. Not one of his mercenaries is left in town.”

  “And where were our naval police when all this happened?”

  “Don’t be too hard on them. Menelaus took the guards on duty by surprise.”

  “Has anyone told my mother?”

  “She’s waiting for you, with Nefertari and Helen.”

  Seti’s widow, Ramses’ wife, and Menelaus’s reluctant spouse were all looking anxious. Tuya sat on a low gilded chair, Nefertari on a folding stool. Helen stood, her back against a light green column with a lotus capital.

  The Queen Mother’s audience chamber was cool and restful, with subtle, pleasing scents in the air. On Pharaoh’s throne, a bouquet of flowers marked the temporary absence of a monarch.

  Ramses bowed to his mother, kissed his wife gently, greeted Helen.

  “How much do you know?” asked Tuya.

  “Only that it’s serious. How many hostages?”

  “Around fifty.”

  “Even one life is more than I’m willing to sacrifice.”

  Ramses turned to Helen. “If we attack, will Menelaus really kill the hostages?”

  “He’ll slit their throats with his own dagger.”

  “How could he live with innocent blood on his hands?”

  “He wants me back. If he can’t have me, he’ll kill before he gets killed.”

  “It’s barbaric.”

  “Menelaus is a warrior. To him, everyone is either friend or foe.”

  “And his own men . . . doesn’t he realize none of them will survive if the hostages are executed?”

  “They’ll die as heroes, with their honor intact.”

  “Heroes or murderers of defenseless bystanders?”

  “Menelaus knows only one law: kill or be killed.”

  “There must be a special hell reserved for Greek heroes.”

  “Frightening as it may be, their need to fight is more intense than the simple desire to survive.”

  Nefertari drew closer to Ramses. “What will you do?”

  “I’ll board Menelaus’s ship alone and unarmed and try to reason with him.”

  “You must be joking,” Helen said with a bitter laugh.

  “The least I can do is try.”

  “He’ll take you hostage, too!” Nefertari interjected.

  “You have no right to put yourself in such danger,” Tuya told him. “Won’t you just be falling into his trap?”

  “He’ll take you away to Greece,” Nefertari prophesied, “and someone else will be Pharaoh—someone who’ll use Helen as a pawn in trade negotiations.”

  Ramses shot a questioning look at his mother. She seemed to agree with Nefertari.

  “If persuasion won’t work with Menelaus, we’ll have to resort to violence.”

  Helen approached the prince regent.

  “No,” he said, “we won’t let you go to him. Protecting a guest is a sacred duty.”

  “Ramses is right,” the Queen Mother seconded. “Giving in to your husband’s blackmail would be in violation of the law of Ma’at. It could only bring unhappiness to Egypt.”

  “But I’m the one who caused all this to happen and it’s—”

  “Don’t, Helen. Since you’ve chosen to live among us, we’re bound to help you stay free.”

  “I’ll think of something,” Seti’s son concluded.

  Trembling and sweating, Meba, the late pharaoh’s secretary of state, stood on the pier shouting back and forth with Menelaus and fearing that a Greek archer’s arrow would pierce him at any moment. However, he did win one concession from the King of Sparta: Ramses would be allowed one night to host a farewell banquet in Helen’s honor.

  Menelaus stipulated that the hostages would be given no food whatsoever until Helen boarded the ship. He would release them once he sailed clear and was sure no Egyptian warships were trailing his fleet.

  Unharmed, Meba walked briskly away from the flagship, not minding the Greek soldiers’ taunts. Ramses’ praise for his able negotiations was some consolation.

  The prince now had a few precious hours to formulate a plan to free the hostages.

  EIGHT

  Average in height, strong as an ox, with dark hair and skin, the snake charmer Setau was making love to his lissome Nubian wife, Lotus, whose slender curves were a constant call to pleasure. Their large home on the edge of the desert, far from the center of Memphis, also served as their laboratory and workshop. Several rooms were filled with flasks and vials of various sizes and the strange contraptions they used to produce pharmaceuticals from snake venom.

  Lotus was a marvelously limber and willing participant in her husband’s seemingly endless variations on a theme. Besides her talents in bed, her thorough and insightful knowledge of reptile behavior never ceased to impress him.
Their mutual passion for snakes led to important discoveries and, after a great deal of experimentation, the creation of new remedies.

  As Setau caressed his wife’s breasts, tender as flower buds, their pet cobra suddenly rose to attention in the doorway.

  “Someone’s approaching,” said Setau.

  Lotus glanced at the splendid reptile. Its swaying told her whether their visitor was a friend or a stranger. Tonight it did not seem alarmed.

  Setau slid off the cozy bed and grabbed a club. While he trusted the cobra’s judgment, at this time of night it was best to be careful.

  A galloping horse pulled up in front of the house. The rider jumped off.

  “Ramses! What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

  “Hope I’m not disturbing you . . .”

  “As a matter of fact, Lotus and I were just—”

  “Sorry, but I need your help.”

  The two had attended the royal academy together, but Setau had shunned the traditional administrative career path to devote himself to the study of snakes, unlocking their secrets of life and death. When they were still in their teens, he had dared Ramses to face the master of the desert, a lethal species of cobra. Setau was immune to the cobra’s bite, but the prince was not. Their friendship survived the challenge, and Setau belonged to the limited circle of Ramses’ closest confidants.

  “Is the kingdom in danger?”

  “Menelaus has taken hostages and threatens to kill them unless we hand over Helen.”

  “A fine mess. But why not let her go? The woman did cause the destruction of an entire city.”

  “Violating the laws of hospitality would make us no better than the Greeks.”

  “Let the barbarians work it out for themselves.”

  “Helen is a queen. She wants to stay in Egypt. It’s my duty to keep her out of Menelaus’s clutches.

  “You really sound like a pharaoh. It must be your destiny. But then it’s not a job any sane man would ask for.”

  “I need to storm Menelaus’s ship without harming the hostages.”

  “You’ve always liked beating impossible odds.”

  “The commanding officers of the regiments stationed in Memphis haven’t come up with one worthwhile idea. Every plan they suggest would end in massacre.”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “No. That’s why I thought of you.”

  “You think I’m going to storm Greek warships?”

  “Not you—your snakes.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Before dawn, we’ll send swimmers to climb up the sides of the ship, carrying bags with snakes in them. Then they dump the snakes near the soldiers guarding the hostages. A few of the guards will be bitten, and in the confusion, our men can free the hostages.”

  “Original, but awfully risky. What makes you think the cobras will go for the Greeks?”

  “I’m fully aware of the enormous risk we’ll be taking.”

  “We?”

  “You and I will be leading the raid, of course.”

  “You expect me to risk my life for some Greek woman I’ve never met?”

  “No, for Egyptian hostages you’ve never met.”

  “What will happen to my wife and my snakes if I die in the process?”

  “They’ll be taken care of.”

  “No, it’s too risky. And how many snakes would you expect me to commit to fighting these bloodthirsty foreigners?”

  “You’ll be paid triple the going bounty, plus I’ll designate your laboratory as an official research center.”

  Setau looked back toward Lotus, so appealing in the warm summer darkness.

  “Enough talk. We’d better start bagging the snakes.”

  Menelaus paced the bridge of his flagship. The lookouts had noted no unusual activity on the riverbanks. Just as he supposed, the Egyptians were too afraid of bloodshed to make a move, the cowards. Taking hostages wasn’t pretty, but it had worked. There was no other way to pry Helen loose from Tuya and Nefertari.

  The hostages had stopped their crying and moaning. Hands tied behind their backs, they huddled on the poop deck, guarded by ten soldiers who were relieved every two hours.

  Menelaus’s aide-de-camp came up to the bridge.

  “Do you think they’ll attack?” he asked.

  “It would be counterproductive. We’d have to slaughter the hostages.”

  “In that case, we’d have no buffer.”

  “We’d kill a lot of Egyptians before we were back at sea . . . but don’t worry, they won’t endanger the lives of innocent victims. I’ll get Helen back at dawn and we’ll sail home.”

  “I’ll miss this place.”

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Didn’t you think life was good in Memphis? Peace at last.”

  “We were born to fight, not laze around palaces.”

  “How safe will you be when you do get home? By now there must be plenty of pretenders to your throne.”

  “I can still handle a sword. When they see Helen under my thumb, they’ll realize who’s in charge.”

  Ramses had selected thirty of his best soldiers, all strong swimmers. Setau showed them how to avoid being bitten when they released their snakes. The volunteers’ faces were tense. The regent made a rousing speech. His strength of conviction, along with Setau’s obvious competence, convinced the commandos they would win the day.

  Ramses hated keeping secrets from his wife and mother, but neither of them would have wanted him to take part in the raid, thinking it put him in too much danger. He assumed full responsibility for the surprise attack. If he was truly meant to be Pharaoh, fate would see him through.

  Setau talked to the snakes inside their sacks and chanted spells to calm them. Lotus had taught him the sounds that had a magical effect on reptiles.

  Once the secret weapons were ready, the raiders marched quietly down to the far end of the harbor, out of the Greek lookouts’ sight.

  Setau touched Ramses’ wrist.

  “Wait . . . Am I seeing things, or is Menelaus casting off?”

  Ramses confirmed his suspicions. “Stay here,” he said, dropping the sack that contained a sand viper and running toward the Greek flagship. In the silvery moonlight, he saw the warrior king standing on the prow, holding Helen in front of him.

  “Menelaus!” Ramses shouted.

  The Greek, wearing a double breastplate and a harness with golden clasps, recognized the prince’s voice immediately.

  “Ramses! You came to see me off. It will be a second honeymoon for me and Helen. She’ll be glad she decided to come. Believe me, she’ll get the royal treatment back home!” Menelaus snorted with laughter.

  “Free the hostages!”

  “Never fear, you’ll get them back alive.”

  Ramses trailed behind the Greek fleet in a small boat with two sails. When the sun rose, Menelaus’s soldiers raised a racket, beating on their shields with swords and spears.

  Under orders from the regent and the Great Royal Wife, the Egyptian navy made no move, giving the Greeks free passage to the Mediterranean. Menelaus could start his northward crossing.

  For a second, Ramses thought he had been fooled, that the King of Sparta was about to slit his prisoners’ throats. But then a boat was lowered and the hostages climbed down a rope ladder to board it. The able-bodied men among them took the oars and rowed away from their floating prison as fast as they could.

  On the prow of her husband’s ship, white-armed Helen, wearing a purple cloak, a white veil, and a collar of gold, gazed at the coast of Egypt, the country where she had known a few months of happiness, where she had hoped in vain to be free of Menelaus.

  Once the hostages were beyond the Greek archers’ range, Helen twisted the amethyst on her right hand and drank the contents of the minuscule vial it concealed: poison stolen from a Memphis laboratory. She had sworn never again to become her husband’s slave; she refused to end her days beaten and humiliated in the palace gynae
ceum. Returning with nothing but her corpse, the black-hearted conqueror of Troy would be a laughingstock.

  She gloried in the touch of the summer sun, wishing her fair skin could turn a warm Egyptian copper, that she could be like her newfound friends, free to love whomever she chose, satisfied body and soul.

  Helen quietly slumped, head rolling onto her shoulder, eyes wide open and fixed on the bright blue sky.

  NINE

  By the time Ahsha returned from a brief State Department information-gathering mission in southern Syria, Memphis had already been in mourning for forty days. The next day, Tuya, Ramses, Nefertari, and key government figures were set to depart for Thebes, where Seti’s mummy would be laid to rest and the new king and queen would be crowned.

  The only son of a wealthy family, well bred, elegant, with a long, fine-featured face, a pencil-thin mustache, lively, intelligent eyes, and a compelling, sometimes haughty manner of speaking, Ahsha had also been a classmate of Ramses’. Though Ahsha was distant and dispassionate, Ramses considered him both friend and critic. Ahsha knew several languages and from an early age had loved to travel and study other cultures. A diplomatic career had been a natural choice for him, and he was considered a boy wonder because of his accuracy in reading several crisis situations. At twenty-three, he was one of the top Asia experts in the Foreign Service. He was brilliant in the field and a gifted analyst as well, qualities rarely combined in one man. Some of his colleagues even called him a visionary. Be that as it may, Egypt’s security hinged on correctly assessing the Hittite empire’s intentions.

  When he reported to Meba, Ahsha found the cabinet officer on the defensive, offering little comment and recommending only that he try to see Ramses as soon as possible, since the Pharaoh-to-Be was asking to meet with all high-level diplomats.

  Ahsha was admitted by Ahmeni, the regent’s private secretary. The two old school friends greeted each other warmly.

  “Still thin as a reed,” Ahsha noted.

  “And you’re wearing the latest fashion, as usual.”

  “We’re all grown up now, so I have my choice of vices! It’s good to see that your talents are appreciated, Ahmeni.”