Ramses, Volume II

by Christian Jacq

  “I’m ready to take him on, but . . .”

  “You’re afraid it’s for selfish reasons. That you have to prove your strength from the beginning.”

  “Are you a mind reader?”

  “I’m your wife.”

  “Tell me what you think, Nefertari. Is it only my vanity leading me?”

  “A pharaoh is larger than life. You are all that is generous, eager, and strong. You’re acting on those qualities—acting as a ruler.”

  “But am I choosing the right battle?”

  “The high priest wants to divide and conquer. There is no evil greater than civil war. As Pharaoh, it’s your duty to face him down.”

  Ramses laid his head on Nefertari’s breast. She gently stroked his hair as all around them swallows flew, rustling the silken air.

  The sound of a scuffle at the gates to the garden broke the spell. A woman was arguing with the guards, her voice growing louder.

  Ramses threw on his kilt and headed for the gates.

  “What’s going on here?”

  The guards stepped aside and there stood Iset the Fair, blooming and vivacious as ever.

  “Majesty!” she exclaimed. “A word with you is all I ask!”

  “Have I ever denied you?”

  “No, but your security detail has, and of course your secretary, and—”

  “Come this way, Iset.”

  A small boy stepped out from behind her. “Here’s our son, Ramses.”

  “Kha!” Ramses picked him up and lifted him over his head. The frightened child burst into tears.

  “He’s very shy,” said Iset.

  The king sat the boy astride his shoulders. Soon Kha forgot his fear and began to laugh.

  “Four years old . . . he’s getting to be a big boy! What does his tutor say?”

  “That he’s too serious. Kha doesn’t play much; he’d rather be reading. He already knows a lot of hieroglyphs; he can even write a few.”

  “He’ll catch up with me before long! Come sit by the pool. I’m going to teach Kha to swim.”

  “Is she . . . is Nefertari with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why have I had so much trouble getting in to see you? You shouldn’t treat me like a stranger. You’d be dead if it weren’t for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I sent that letter to warn you about the coup.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Iset hung her head. “All right, I admit there was a time when I resented being left in Thebes. I was so alone. But I never stopped loving you, and I refused to join forces with the members of your own family working against you.”

  “I never got your letter.”

  Iset turned white. “Then you thought I was against you, too?”

  “Was I wrong?”

  “Yes, you were wrong! By the name of Pharaoh, I swear I never betrayed you!”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  Iset took Ramses’ arm. “How could I lie to you?”

  Now they approached Nefertari, and her beauty took Iset’s breath away. It was not so much her outward perfection as her integral radiance that disarmed and conquered everyone around her. Nefertari was truly a Great Royal Wife. No one could touch her.

  Iset was untroubled by jealousy. Nefertari shone like the summer sky; her nobility inspired only respect.

  “Iset! I’m so happy to see you.”

  As lesser wife, Iset bowed to her.

  “Please don’t. Come, Iset, have a swim. It’s so hot today.”

  Iset had never expected such a welcome. Without a word, she acquiesced, removing her clothes. Naked as Nefertari, she dove into the blue water.

  As they swam, Ramses watched the two women he loved. How could his feelings for them be so different, yet so intense and sincere? Nefertari was the love of his life, unique and gifted, a queen. Iset the Fair was his carefree youth—desire, sensuality, passion. Still, she had lied and plotted against him; he had no choice but to punish her.

  “Is it true I’m your son?” piped Kha.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “The hieroglyph for son has a duck in it.” The little boy carefully drew a duck in the sand with his finger.

  “Do you know the one for Pharaoh?”

  Kha drew a house, then a column.

  “The house means protection, the column means greatness. Per-ah, great house—that’s the real meaning of the word. Do you know why they call me Pharaoh?”

  “Because you’re taller than everybody and you live in a great big house.”

  “That’s right, son, but the house is all of Egypt, and each person must find a home in it.”

  “Will you show me more hieroglyphs?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to play another game?”

  Kha pouted.

  “All right then,” Ramses told him, and the boy brightened.

  The king traced a circle with a dot in its center on the sandy garden path.

  “The sun,” he explained. “The sun is called Ra. His name is made of a mouth and an arm, because he’s both word and deed. Now you try it.”

  The child drew a series of suns, each one closer to a perfect circle. Fresh from their swim, Iset and Nefertari inspected Kha’s hieroglyphs.

  “He’s very advanced for his age,” said the queen.

  “It almost frightens me sometimes,” said Iset. “His tutor doesn’t know what to do with him.”

  “Then he needs another tutor,” said Ramses. “My son should develop his talents, no matter what other children his age do. His ability is a gift from the gods. We mustn’t hold him back. Wait here.”

  The king walked through the garden toward the palace.

  Kha began to cry; his finger was sore. “May I pick him up?” Nefertari asked Iset.

  “Yes. Yes, of course.”

  The boy quieted almost at once. Nefertari’s eyes were full of tenderness. Iset felt bold enough to ask the question tormenting her.

  “Despite the loss of your daughter, are you planning to have more children?”

  “In fact, I’ve just begun to suspect I’m pregnant again.”

  “Ah . . . may the gods of childbirth smile upon you.”

  “Thank you, Iset. Your kind words will help me when my time comes.”

  Iset hid her dismay. She did not dispute Nefertari as Ramses’ queen and hardly envied her the crushing responsibilities that came with the position of Great Royal Wife. What she did want was more children with Ramses, many more, and the honor attached to being their mother. For the time being, she remained the mother of his firstborn son, but if Nefertari gave birth to a boy, he would probably be given precedence over Kha.

  Ramses returned with a miniature scribe’s palette, complete with two tiny cakes of ink, one red, the other black, and three child-sized brushes. When he handed it to his son, the boy’s face lit up. Kha clutched the precious kit to his heart.

  “I love you, Papa!”

  Once Iset and Kha had gone, Ramses again spoke his mind to Nefertari.

  “I’m convinced she had something to do with the coup.”

  “Did you question her?”

  “She admits she was upset with me, but she claims she tried to warn me. If she did, I never got her message.”

  “Why don’t you believe her?”

  “I don’t think she forgives me for making you my consort.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Her offense should be punished.”

  “What offense? A pharaoh can’t hand out punishments based on fleeting impressions. Iset has given you a fine son. She wishes you no harm. Forgive the offense, if she ever committed one, and forget the punishment.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Setau’s outfit instantly set him apart from the palace regulars. His thick antelope-skin garment, cut like a winter tunic, had been treated with antivenom preparations. In an emergency, Setau could whip off his tunic, soak it in water, and produce a satisfactory snakebite remedy.

 
“This isn’t the desert,” Ramses told him. “You hardly need that portable pharmacy in Memphis.”

  “It’s more dangerous here than in deepest Nubia. Snakes and scorpions everywhere, though you might not recognize them at first glance. Are you ready?”

  “I fasted, just as you told me to.”

  “The treatments have gone well so far. You’ve built up an immunity to most kinds of snakebite, even certain cobras. Do you really want this added protection?”

  “I gave you my consent.”

  “It’s not without risk.”

  “Let’s get on with it.”

  “Did you ask Nefertari about it?”

  “Did you ask Lotus?”

  “She says I’m slightly mad, but we see eye to eye.”

  Unshaven, square-jawed, refusing to wear a wig, Setau would have sent an ordinary patient running.

  “If I’ve got the dose wrong,” he warned his friend, “you could end up a vegetable.”

  “No use trying to scare me off.”

  “Drink this, then.”

  Ramses took the potion.

  “What do you think?”

  “Tastes good.”

  “That’s because of the carob juice. The other ingredients are less appetizing: extracts of several different stinging plants and diluted cobra blood. Now you’re protected against any bite there is. You’ll only need a booster every six months.”

  “Setau, when will you come to work for me?”

  “Never. And when will you stop being so naive? I could have poisoned you, just now.”

  “You’re not a murderer.”

  “As if you’d know!”

  “I learned a few things from Menelaus. What’s more, you’ve been screened by Serramanna, my lion, and my dog.”

  “Quite the threesome. But are you forgetting that Thebes can’t wait to see you leave and most of the notables hope to see you fail?”

  “Should I let that stop me?”

  “I don’t have a secret remedy to protect you from men. They’re far more dangerous than snakes.”

  “Yes, but men are what a pharaoh has to work with, if his goal is to build a just and harmonious society.”

  “Humph! You must be living in a dreamworld. Wake up, my friend. You’re surrounded by schemers and villains. Still, you have one advantage: you feel the same mysterious force I do when I work with cobras. It brought you Nefertari, the most wonderful partner any king could have. I think you’ll make it.”

  “It will be harder without your help.”

  “Flattery didn’t use to be one of your faults. I’m heading north now, with a load of venom. Take care, Ramses.”

  Despite his brother’s early show of strength, Shaanar was not discouraged. Who could tell what would happen when the young pharaoh locked horns with the high priest of Amon? It would probably end in a stalemate, undermining Ramses’ authority. His word was far from carrying the weight of Seti’s.

  Shaanar was beginning to figure out his brother.

  A frontal attack? Certain to fail, since Ramses would defend himself so forcefully that he would turn the situation to his advantage. It would be better to lay a series of traps, using trickery, lies, and betrayal. As long as Ramses remained unable to identify his enemies, he would expend his energy flailing at shadows. Once he was exhausted, Shaanar could move in for the kill.

  While the new king was busy forming his government and bringing Thebes to heel, his brother had been quiet, seemingly detached. Soon he would have to make himself heard, or else be suspected of plotting in the background.

  After much thought, Shaanar had concluded that his best course was to play Ramses for a fool, in a manner so blatant that the new pharaoh would have to lash out at him, never realizing that it was exactly the reaction his brother wanted. If his little experiment worked, Shaanar would know that Ramses could be manipulated.

  And Shaanar would manipulate him for all he was worth.

  For the tenth time, Ramses was lecturing Watcher about his fishing expeditions. It wasn’t nice to steal from the palace ponds. It was nice to share his catch with Fighter, but didn’t they both get enough to eat as it was? The yellow dog listened attentively, yet his expression told the king he was wasting his breath. With the lion as his accomplice, Watcher knew he could get away with murder.

  The towering figure of Serramanna appeared in the doorway of Ramses’ office.

  “Your brother wants to see you, but he refuses to be searched.”

  “Let him in.”

  Serramanna stepped aside. Shaanar shot him an icy look in passing.

  “Would Your Majesty be so good as to grant me a private interview?”

  The yellow dog tagged after Serramanna, who always had a treat for him.

  “It’s been a long time since we talked, Shaanar.”

  “You have so much to do. I didn’t want to be a nuisance.”

  Ramses circled his brother, inspecting.

  “What are you looking at?” Shaanar said anxiously.

  “You’re thinner, brother dear.”

  “I’ve been trying to cut back these last few weeks.”

  Despite his dieting, Shaanar was still plump. His small dark eyes shone in a moon face with the pudgy cheeks and the full lips of a true food lover.

  “Why the beard?”

  “I’ll never stop mourning Seti,” he said. “To lose our father so young . . .”

  “I sympathize,” Ramses said feelingly.

  “I’m sure you do, but your duties leave you little time to dwell on it. It’s not the same for me.”

  “What brings you here today?”

  “You’ve been expecting me, haven’t you?”

  The king made no comment.

  “I’m your older brother and my reputation is excellent. I’ve put our differences behind me; I can live with the fact I was passed over for the throne. But I can’t resign myself to being a royal showpiece, of no real use to my country.”

  “I understand how you feel.”

  “My work as chief of protocol is no longer enough for me, especially since Romay, the new chief steward, has been handling most of it.”

  “What do you want, Shaanar?”

  “I’ve thought long and hard before approaching you. I had to swallow my pride.”

  “There should be no question of such a thing between brothers.”

  “Will you meet my demands?”

  “Not when I have no idea what they are.”

  “Will you hear me out?”

  “Please go ahead.”

  Shaanar began to pace. “Could I ask to become vizier? Impossible. You’d be accused of favoritism. Head the police? The bureaucracy is too complicated. Chief royal scribe? Too much responsibility, not enough time for my royal duties. What about overseeing your construction projects? No, I have no experience. Agriculture? You’ve already filled the position. Finance? You kept the incumbent. You plan to reform the temples, but I have no inclination toward the religious life.”

  “Where does that leave you?”

  “With the one job I’m suited for: secretary of state. You’re aware of my interest in trade relations. Instead of concentrating on negotiations for my personal gain, I want to work toward strengthening diplomatic ties with our neighbors, as well as within our dependent territories.”

  Shaanar finally came to a halt, asking, “Does my proposal shock you?”

  “It’s a tall assignment.”

  “My major goal would be avoiding war with the Hittites. No one wants bloodshed. I’ve always promoted peace; will you give me a chance to do something concrete about it?”

  Ramses pondered. “I’ll grant your request,” he finally told his brother. “But you’ll need help, Shaanar.”

  “Admittedly. Do you have someone in mind?”

  “My friend Ahsha. A professional diplomat.”

  “A minder?”

  “A partner, I hope.”

  “As Your Majesty sees fit.”

  “Meet with him as soo
n as possible, then outline your program for me.”

  On his way out of the palace, Shaanar could barely contain a whoop of joy.

  He had twisted Ramses around his little finger.

  NINETEEN

  Ramses’ sister threw herself at his feet.

  “Forgive me, I beg of you,” she sobbed. “Forgive my husband and me!”

  “Get up, Dolora. Don’t make a spectacle of yourself.”

  Dolora let him help her to her feet, but was still afraid to look at him. Tall and listless, she seemed about to swoon.

  “Forgive us, Ramses. We didn’t know what we were doing!”

  “You wanted me dead. Twice your husband tried to have me killed. Sary, who practically raised me!”

  “It was wrong of him, very wrong. I should never have played along. We were too easily influenced.”

  “By whom, sister dear?”

  “The high priest at Karnak. He brainwashed us into thinking you’d be a bad king, that you’d lead the country into a civil war.”

  “You had no faith in me at all, then.”

  “My husband knew you as an impetuous boy, always itching for a fight. Now he sees the error of his ways . . . if you only knew how truly sorry he is!”

  “And could our dear brother have been in on the plot?”

  “No,” lied Dolora. “He’s the one we should have listened to. Once he was reconciled to our poor father’s decision to name you as his successor, Shaanar became one of your staunchest supporters. His only thought now is serving Egypt in a position that will make full use of his talents.”

  “Why didn’t Sary come with you?”

  Dolora hung her head. “He fears the wrath of Pharaoh.”

  “As well he should. But luckily for both of you, our mother and Nefertari have been pleading in your favor. They want to keep peace in the family, out of respect for Seti’s memory.”

  “Are you pardoning me?” asked his sister, astonished.

  “I’m appointing you honorary superior of the harem at Thebes. A grand title, but not too tiring for you. Just make sure you behave yourself, Dolora.”

  “And . . . my husband?”

  “He’s going to head the brickyard at Karnak. Seti’s additions to the temple are still being finished, so he’ll have plenty to do. It’s time he accomplished something constructive.”