At a signal from Setau, the cobras backed away. The Sard, drenched in sweat, walked straight between them, heading back to his horse.
One thing was clear in his mind: Setau had the soul of a criminal.
“What are they doing?” asked little Kha, watching farmworkers herd a flock of sheep through a sodden field.
“After the sowing, the sheep help work the seeds into the soil,” explained Nedjem, the new agriculture secretary. “The inundation leaves a huge amount of silt on the banks and fields. That helps us grow good wheat.”
“And the sheep are helpers?”
“Just like cows and every other animal in creation.”
The inundation had begun to recede, and the sowers were out in the fields, blessing the river’s abundance. They began early in the morning, having a limited number of days with the right conditions for planting while the soil was moist and easily worked. After hoeing to break up the waterlogged clumps of soil, the seeds were scattered and the furrows covered. Livestock followed to help pack down the soil.
“The country is nice,” said Kha, “but I still like my scrolls and hieroglyphs better.”
“Would you like to visit a farm?”
“All right.”
Nedjem took the little boy by the hand. Even his walk was serious, out of keeping with his age, like his academic gifts. Kindhearted Nedjem was so concerned for the child, with his lack of interest in toys and playmates, that he’d begged Iset the Fair to let him act as Kha’s tutor, if only to take the little prince outside his gilded cage and introduce him to the wonders of nature.
Kha took in everything around him—not as a surprised and delighted child, however, but as a full-fledged scribe mentally compiling a report.
The farm had silos, barns, a barnyard, bread ovens, a kitchen garden. At the gate, Nedjem and Kha were invited to wash their hands and feet. Then the owner welcomed them, delighted to have such important visitors. He showed off his pampered and productive dairy herd.
“My secret,” he confessed, “is finding the right pasture, where they don’t get too hot and have plenty of grass.”
“The cow is the animal of the goddess Hathor. That’s why cows are good to us.”
The farmer’s eyes widened. “How do you know that, Prince?”
“I read it in a story.”
“You already know how to read?”
“Will you do something for me?”
“Anything.”
“Bring me a piece of limestone and a reed tip.”
“Yes, right away.”
The farmer glanced at Nedjem, who winked his approval. Writing implements in hand, the boy began to walk around the barnyard, then the barns themselves, to the farmhands’ astonishment.
An hour later, the slab of limestone was covered with writing when he returned it to his host.
“I checked my figures,” Kha told him. “You own a hundred and twelve cows.”
The child rubbed his eyes and clung to Nedjem.
“Now I’m sleepy,” he confessed.
By the time the old man settled Kha in his arms, the boy was asleep. “Another one of Ramses’ miracles,” Nedjem said to himself.
THIRTY-SIX
Athletic as Ramses, broad-shouldered, with a high forehead, flowing dark hair, and a bearded, weather-beaten face, Moses walked casually into the King of Egypt’s office.
Ramses rose and the two men embraced.
“This was where Seti worked, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I haven’t changed a thing. His thoughts live on in these walls. I want them to be my inspiration.”
Light filtered through the three high windows designed to keep air circulating through the room. The late summer heat was agreeable.
Ramses shunned his straight-backed royal armchair and sat on a plain seat of woven straw, facing his friend.
“How are you, Moses?”
“Fine, but I don’t have enough to do.”
“We never see each other these days. I’m afraid that’s my fault.”
“You know I can’t stand to be idle. Why did you bring me to Memphis? I was better off working at Karnak.”
“You’re not enjoying high society?”
“The courtiers bore me. It’s Ramses, Ramses, Ramses. Soon they’ll be making a god of you. It’s stupid and pointless.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
“The September flooding, the phoenix, the new era . . . The facts are undeniable, and they explain your popularity. But do you have supernatural powers, are you predestined? The people think so.”
“And you don’t agree?”
“It may be true. But you’re no god.”
“Did I ever claim to be?”
“Be careful, Ramses, or too much flattery will go to your head.”
“You don’t seem to understand the role and the function of a pharaoh. You don’t give me much credit, either!”
“I’m only trying to help you.”
“I’m going to give you the chance to do that.”
Moses’ eyes shone with curiosity. “You’re sending me back to Karnak?”
“I have a much more important assignment for you, if you accept.”
“More important than Karnak?”
The king rose and leaned his back against the window frame.
“I have an important plan. So far I’ve only shared it with Nefertari. We agreed it would be best to look for a sign before I went ahead. The second inundation and the phoenix . . . in the end the gods gave me two signs. The House of Life confirmed that a new era really has begun, according to the laws of astronomy. Of course I’ll continue the work my father began, in Karnak, in Abydos, and elsewhere. Still, I think a new era should be marked with new creations. Is that vanity, Moses?”
“Every pharaoh must build, according to tradition.”
Ramses looked concerned.
“The world is changing. The Hittites constitute a permanent threat, and Egypt is a prime target. Those are the truths that led me to conceive of my project.”
“Increasing your military strength?”
“No, Moses. Moving the strategic center of the country.”
“Do you mean . . .”
“Yes, building a new capital.”
The Hebrew was dumbstruck. “What? How will . . .”
“The northern border is where Egypt’s fate will be decided. Therefore, my government should have its seat in the Delta to keep up with the latest developments in Lebanon, Syria, and our protectorates under threat from the Hittites. Thebes will remain the city of Amon, the home of Karnak and Luxor. I’ll make sure they’re grander and more beautiful than ever. On the West Bank, the Peak reigns in silence over the Valley of the Kings, the Valley of the Queens, the mortuary temples on the plain.”
“But what about Memphis?”
“Memphis is the fulcrum of the Two Lands, where the Delta joins the Nile Valley. It will remain our economic and administrative capital. But we must go farther to the north and east, Moses. We can’t pretend we exist in splendid isolation, or forget that we’ve been invaded before. We must remember that Egypt is a tempting prize.”
“Isn’t the line of fortresses enough of a deterrent?”
“In case of danger, I’ll have to move quickly. The closer I am to the northern border, the less time it will take information to reach me.”
“Building a capital is a perilous undertaking. Look what happened to Akhenaton.”
“Akhenaton made some fatal errors. The site he chose, in Middle Egypt, was doomed from the start. He forgot about the good of his people and pursued his mystical fantasies.”
“He challenged the clergy of Amon, and so have you.”
“If the high priest of Amon is faithful to the law and loyal to the king, I’ll have no quarrel with him.”
“Akhenaton believed in a single god. The new capital was supposed to be a shrine to His glory.”
“His father, the great Amenhotep, left him a prosperous country. He left it in ru
ins. Akhenaton was weak and indecisive, lost in his prayers. Under his reign, hostile powers seized Egyptian territory. If you’re trying to defend him, it won’t be easy.”
Moses hesitated. “Today his capital lies abandoned.”
“Mine will be built to last several generations.”
“You almost frighten me, Ramses.”
“Take heart, Moses!”
“How many years does it take to raise a city starting from nothing?”
Ramses smiled. “It won’t start from nothing.”
“Explain yourself.”
“While I was Seti’s co-regent, he took me to see the main sites associated with our dynasty. Each trip was a learning experience, though I couldn’t always see the point at the time. Today I’m beginning to make more sense of our travels. One of the places we visited was Avaris.”
“The capital of the Hyksos invaders? You can’t be serious.”
“Seti was the namesake of Set, who murdered his brother, Osiris. My father had the strength to dominate the forces of destruction, feed on their energy, and use it to build.”
“And now you want to make Avaris the city of Ramses?”
“Yes, and that’s what I plan to call it. Pi-Ramses, the city of Ramses, the capital of Egypt.”
“It’s madness!”
“Pi-Ramses will be magnificent, inviting. Poets will sing its praises.”
“How long will it take to build?”
“I haven’t forgotten your question. In fact, it’s why I called you here.”
“Does this mean what I’m afraid it does?”
“I need someone I can trust to supervise the work and keep the project on schedule. I need Avaris turned into Pi-Ramses as quickly as possible.”
“Do you have a time frame?”
“Less than a year.”
“That’s impossible!”
“No, it isn’t, thanks to you.”
“You think I can move stone with the speed of a falcon and put blocks together through sheer force of will?”
“Stone, no. But with bricks it could go that fast.”
“I’m beginning to see . . .”
“Your fellow Hebrews make up most of the brickmaking companies around the country. If we bring them all together, you’ll form a group of highly skilled workmen capable of taking on such a large-scale project.”
“Aren’t temples supposed to be made of stone?”
“I’ll enlarge the temples already in place. That can be done over several years. We’ll use brick to build the palaces, government offices, villas for the nobles, houses, apartments. In less than a year, Pi-Ramses will be habitable and become a working capital.”
Moses appeared unconvinced.
“I still say it’s impossible. The blueprints alone . . .”
“The blueprints are in my head! I’ll sketch them myself on papyrus and you’ll take it from there.”
“The Hebrews are a fairly independent lot. Each clan has its own chief.”
“I’m not asking you to become a political leader, only a project administrator.”
“Winning their trust won’t be easy.”
“I have faith in you.”
“As soon as the news is out, other Hebrews will try to take my place.”
“Will they be able to?”
Now Moses smiled. “No one will be able to meet your deadline.”
“We’ll build Pi-Ramses to shine in the Delta and cast a glow over all of Egypt. Get to work, Moses.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Abner the brickmaker could stand it no longer. Just because Sary was Ramses’ brother-in-law, he thought he could treat his Hebrew workers like dirt. He shorted their overtime pay, cut their rations, and denied them time off, claiming their work was substandard.
When Moses was in Thebes, he had kept Sary in line. Now that he was gone, the situation was worse than ever. Yesterday evening the foreman had caned a fifteen-year-old boy, accusing him of not getting the bricks to the boat fast enough.
It was the last straw.
When Sary arrived at the brickyard, the entire work gang was seated in a circle. Only Abner was standing in front of the empty baskets.
“Get up and go to work!” snarled Sary, who grew thinner by the day.
“We demand an apology,” Abner said calmly.
“Am I hearing right?”
“The boy you beat last night is home in bed. He did nothing wrong. You owe him an apology, and we deserve one, too.”
“Have you lost your mind, Abner?”
“We won’t go back to work until you agree.”
“Don’t make me laugh!” Sary snorted.
“All right. We’ll file a complaint instead.”
“You’re pathetic, Abner. And stupid. I already called the police in to investigate. They ruled that the boy was injured in an accident entirely of his own fault.”
“That’s a lie!”
“A scribe took his sworn statement in my presence. If the boy tries to change his story, he’ll be accused of perjury.”
“How can you twist the truth so!”
“If you men don’t get back to work at once, you’ll face stiff penalties. You’re supposed to deliver bricks for the mayor’s new mansion, and the mayor of Thebes doesn’t like delays.”
“But the law—”
“Don’t talk to me about the law, Hebrew. It’s over your head. If you file a complaint, your family and friends will suffer the consequences.”
Abner believed him. He was afraid of Sary. With the rest of the gang, he went back to work.
Dolora, Sary’s wife, was more and more fascinated by the strange personality of Ofir, the Libyan sorcerer. His hawklike face was unsettling, yet his voice mesmerized, and when the subject was Aton, the solar disk, his enthusiasm was catching. A discreet houseguest, he had agreed to meet with a number of the princess’s friends and speak about the unjust persecution Akhenaton had suffered, the need to promote the concept of a single god.
Ofir cast a spell over people. No one walked away from these sessions unchanged. Some were upset by his views, others persuaded. He slowly entangled some worthwhile connections in his web, attracting more support for Aton—and Lita—with each passing week. Even though the throne of Egypt remained only a remote possibility, a movement was beginning to form.
Lita attended these talks without joining in. The young woman’s dignity, bearing, and reserve were the deciding factor for quite a few notables. She clearly belonged to a royal lineage that ought to be given consideration. Sooner or later, there was bound to be a role at court for Lita.
Ofir never criticized, made no demands. In a low, persuasive voice, he evoked Akhenaton’s profound convictions, the beauty of his poetry in honor of Aton, his love of truth. Love and peace: was that not the message of the persecuted king and his direct descendant, Lita? And this message heralded a magnificent future, a future worthy of Egypt and her civilization.
When Dolora introduced the sorcerer to the former secretary of state, Meba, she was proud of herself. Proud that she had snapped out of her habitual apathy, proud to be serving a noble cause. Ramses had abandoned her; the sorcerer gave meaning to her existence.
The old diplomat, with his broad, reassuring face and stately manner, made no attempt to hide his reluctance.
“I’m only doing this as a favor to you,” he told Dolora.
“I appreciate it, Meba. You won’t regret it.” She showed him to where the sorcerer sat beneath a persea tree, weaving two strands of linen into a thin cord that would hold an amulet.
He rose and bowed.
“It’s a very great honor for me to receive a cabinet member.”
“I’m nothing now,” Meba said bitterly.
“Injustice can strike anyone at any time.”
“That’s small consolation.”
Ramses’ sister chimed in: “I explained everything to our friend Meba. Perhaps he’ll agree to help us.”
“Let’s not fool ourselves, my dear. Ramses sh
owed me the door.”
“You want revenge,” said the sorcerer evenly.
“That’s going too far,” protested Meba. “I still have some influential friends who—”
“They’re out to protect their own interests, not help you. I have another goal in mind: proving Lita’s legitimacy.”
“You’re dreaming. Ramses has an extraordinarily forceful personality. He’s not about to step aside. What’s more, the miraculous happenings of late have made him very popular. Believe me, it’s a lost cause.”
“It’s a challenge. I agree we can’t fight him on his home turf.”
“What’s your plan, then?”
“Interested?”
“Well . . .” Meba fiddled with the amulet around his neck.
“That gesture provides a clue to one solution: magic. I know how to break through the spells protecting Ramses. It will be long and difficult, but I can do it.”
The elder statesman recoiled.
“I can’t offer you my assistance.”
“I’m not asking for it, Meba. But there’s another area that needs to be addressed: the spread of ideas.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Aton’s believers need a respected and respectable leader. And when Aton regains his supremacy, that leader will be in the forefront, overthrowing a pharaoh who’s lost all credibility and is unsure how to react.”
“Oh, my. It would be risky!”
“Akhenaton was disgraced, but never Aton. There’s no law against worshiping him. It’s a growing religion, and his followers are determined. Where Akhenaton failed, we’ll succeed.”
Meba’s hands trembled. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Isn’t it exciting?” asked Dolora. “A new world is opening up to us, a world where we’ll find our rightful place!”
“Yes, of course. Let me think it over.”
A most satisfactory meeting, Ofir thought afterward. A cautious, fainthearted diplomat, Meba did not really have the makings of a leader. But he hated Ramses and dreamed of regaining his former glory. Unable to make up his mind, he would turn to his confidant, Shaanar, the man Ofir really hoped to attract. Dolora had told him a great deal about the new secretary of state and his old rivalry with Ramses. Unless he’d changed completely, Shaanar was proceeding in stealth, his desire to destroy his brother intact. The sorcerer felt sure that Meba would put him in touch with this powerful figure, destined to become their most valuable ally.
Ramses, Volume II Page 18
