Ramses, Volume II

by Christian Jacq

  After a long and exhausting day of work, Sary’s right big toe was red and swollen, twisted with arthritis. Standing on it was so painful that he could barely drive his official chariot. His only satisfaction had been taking disciplinary measures against the Hebrews, who had finally comprehended that it was useless to challenge his authority. Thanks to his connections in the police department and his relationship with the mayor of Thebes, he was free to vent his frustrations on the brickyard riffraff.

  Having Ofir and his silent muse as houseguests was beginning to wear on his nerves. They tried to stay out of his way, of course, but their influence over Dolora was getting out of hand. Her newfound devotion to Aton was exasperating. With all the time she spent in prayer or listening at the Libyan’s feet as he sermonized, she was bound to neglect her conjugal duties.

  Tall, dark, and languid, she waited for him on the doorstep to their villa.

  “Go get the liniment and rub my feet,” he barked at her.

  “A hard day at the brickyard?”

  “Don’t make fun of me! You can’t imagine what it’s like. Those Hebrews are hopeless.”

  Dolora took his arm and led him gently to their bedchamber. Sary reclined against a heap of pillows as his wife washed and oiled his feet, massaging liniment into his sore toe.

  “Is your sorcerer still hanging around?”

  “Meba called on him today.”

  “Your father’s secretary of state?”

  “He was interested in what Ofir had to say.”

  “You think Meba will join your movement? He’s too much of a chicken.”

  “He’s still an important and well-respected figure. Attracting him would really help our cause.”

  “Ofir and Lita have certainly managed to brainwash you.”

  “Sary! How dare you talk that way!”

  “All right, forget it.”

  “This is our only chance to reclaim our position. And then this faith is so pure, so appealing . . . don’t you just melt when Ofir talks about Aton?”

  “Who means more to you, your husband or that hook-nosed sorcerer?”

  “What? There’s absolutely no comparison.”

  “He’s with you all day long, while I spend my time with a bunch of lazy Hebrews. A blonde and a brunette to choose from . . . Your Libyan is one lucky fellow.”

  Dolora stopped rubbing the inflamed digit.

  “You’re raving, Sary! Ofir is a sage and a holy man. It must be ages since he’s had any thought of—”

  “But I’ll bet you do.”

  “You’re disgusting!”

  “Take off your dress, Dolora, and keep on massaging me. I’m no holy man.”

  “Wait, I forgot to tell you something.”

  “What?”

  “A royal courier delivered a letter for you.”

  “Let me see it.”

  Dolora went to fetch the letter. Sary’s toe felt better already. What could this official business be? Perhaps an appointment to an office job, where he wouldn’t have any Hebrews to supervise?

  His wife returned with the scroll. Sary broke the seal on the papyrus, unrolled it, and read.

  He winced, the color draining from his face.

  “Bad news?”

  “I’m to report to Memphis with my work gang.”

  “That sounds like a promotion!”

  “Yes, but the letter is signed by Moses, chief of royal construction.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Every Hebrew brickmaker in the country answered the summons. When letters from Moses reached their various work sites, the response was overwhelmingly positive. Moses’ reputation had spread throughout the land during his tenure at Karnak. He was known for championing the rights of his fellow Hebrews. Being Ramses’ friend gave him a remarkable advantage, and now he had been named to oversee all royal construction projects! A new hope stirred: surely Moses would improve their salaries and working conditions.

  Moses was frankly surprised by the positive reaction. A few local leaders were upset, but there was no questioning Pharaoh’s orders. They yielded to Moses’ authority, welcoming him when he toured the tent city north of Memphis, checking on the workers’ comfort and sanitary conditions.

  Suddenly Sary blocked his path.

  “What’s the meaning of this summons?”

  “I’ll be making an announcement.”

  “What am I doing here with all these Hebrews?”

  “There are several other Egyptian foremen.”

  “Are you forgetting that my wife is the king’s sister?”

  “Are you forgetting that I’m your boss now?”

  Sary chewed his lips.

  “My lot of Hebrews is unruly. I cane them when I need to, and I don’t plan to stop.”

  “Judicious use of physical discipline can make men listen with their third ear, the one on the back. But anyone who uses the cane without reason should be punished in kind. In fact, I’ll see to it personally.”

  “Don’t try to bully me.”

  “Watch yourself, Sary. I can have you demoted. By now you should be an excellent brickmaker yourself.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Ramses has given me full authority. Keep that in mind.”

  Moses brushed past Sary, who spat in the young Hebrew’s footsteps.

  Dolora was excited to be back in Memphis, but it could prove to be a nightmare. Ramses had been officially informed of his sister’s return, along with her husband, but nothing had come of it. They had taken a modest villa, passing Ofir and Lita off as servants. The trio, over Sary’s halfhearted objections, had every intention of continuing to proselytize as they had in Thebes. Given the number of foreigners living in Memphis, the country’s economic capital, their work would be easier here. The south was more traditional and resistant to new religious concepts. Dolora considered the summons to Memphis a favorable sign.

  Sary remained skeptical and preoccupied with his own fate, pondering what announcement Moses was about to make to thousands of agitated Hebrews.

  Guarding the entrance to the State Department was a statue of the god Thoth in the form of an enormous pink granite baboon. Thoth, the scribe god, had created all the world’s languages, and members of the Foreign Service sought his patronage. Learning several foreign tongues was a requirement for diplomats, since the knowledge of hieroglyphs was not for export. In the field, ambassadors and couriers used the local language.

  Like other high-ranking officials in the department, Ahsha often meditated in the chapel to the left of the entrance and laid narcissi at the shrine to Thoth. Before addressing delicate issues of national security, it was wise to seek indulgence from the god of learning.

  His offering made, the rising star of Egyptian diplomacy passed through several busy departments on his way to Shaanar’s spacious office.

  “There you are, Ahsha. What kept you?”

  “Afraid I overslept; I was making rather merry last night. I do hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.”

  Shaanar’s face was red and puffy; he was obviously worked up about something.

  “Tell me,” Ahsha said soothingly.

  “Have you heard about the Hebrew brickmakers camped north of town?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t take much notice.”

  “Neither did I, but apparently we should have!”

  “What could brickworkers possibly have to do with us?” Well bred and elegant, Ahsha had nothing but disdain for manual laborers, although he hardly knew any.

  “You’ll never guess who’s behind it. The new chief of royal construction—Moses!”

  “Is that so surprising? He supervised Seti’s additions to Karnak; it’s a logical promotion.”

  “If only that were all. Yesterday Moses called an assembly and announced he was leading them to the Delta, where an all-Hebrew work crew will build a new capital for Ramses!”

  A long silence followed this revelation as Ahsha, ordinarily unflappable, registered the shock.

 
“Are you quite certain . . .”

  “Absolutely certain. Moses is carrying out my brother’s orders.”

  “A new capital . . . simply impossible!”

  “Not for Ramses!”

  “How ambitious a project is it?”

  “Pharaoh himself drew the plans and chose the site. And what a site—Avaris, the abandoned city of the Hyksos invaders we had so much trouble getting rid of!” Shaanar’s moon face suddenly brightened. “What if Ramses really has gone mad? A project on this scale can only lead to ruin. Men of sound mind will have to take over eventually . . .”

  “I wouldn’t be overly optimistic. It’s true that Ramses has a great deal at stake, but his instinct is solid. It’s actually the smartest thing he can do. Moving the capital so far northeast and so close to the border, he’s sending the Hittites a clear warning signal. They’ll see that Egypt is taking nothing for granted, is aware of the danger but won’t give an inch. The king will have better access to information about enemy actions and be able to react more quickly.”

  Shaanar sat down, disheartened. “It’s a catastrophe. Our strategy is full of holes now.”

  “I wouldn’t be too pessimistic, either,” Ahsha advised. “On one hand, Ramses’ dream may never become reality, and on the other, why should we change our plans?”

  “But my brother is obviously taking an aggressive stance on foreign policy . . .”

  “That comes as no surprise, but his policy will still be based on the intelligence he receives. We may as well let him think he’s in charge.”

  Shaanar’s confidence returned. “You’re right, Ahsha. We won’t let a new capital get in our way.”

  Queen Mother Tuya had missed the gardens of her Memphis palace. The times she had strolled there with Seti seemed too few and far between, the years she had spent with him too brief. She remembered his every word, his every glance, and had often imagined a peaceful old age at his side, basking in shared memories. But now Seti roamed through paradise and she walked alone in this marvelous garden, shaded by pomegranates, tamarisks, and jojoba trees. On either side of the path bloomed cornflowers, anemones, lupine, and ranunculi. Tuya sat pensively by the lotus pond, beneath a wisteria arbor.

  When she saw Ramses approaching, her sadness vanished.

  In less than a year as Pharaoh, her son had grown so self-assured that it was hard to believe he had ever doubted his capabilities. He kept up the same vigorous pace his father had, with seemingly inexhaustible reserves of energy.

  Tenderly, respectfully, Ramses kissed his mother and sat down beside her.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “That’s what I’m here for, my son.”

  “Do you approve of the men I’ve chosen for my cabinet?”

  “Do you recall Seti’s advice to you?”

  “I did my best to follow it: ‘Look deep in the souls of men. Look for advisers who are upright and firm, able to give an impartial opinion yet ever mindful of their oath of obedience.’ Have I succeeded? Only the next few years will tell.”

  “Do you fear opposition so soon?”

  “It’s inevitable, at the rate I’ve been going. I know I’ll run up against proud hearts and vested interests. When the idea for this new capital came to me, it was like a lightning bolt. I saw it and knew it was true.”

  “The Sia,” said his mother, nodding, “direct intuition, without reasoning or analysis. It was the source of many of Seti’s decisions. He believed it was handed down from pharaoh to pharaoh.”

  “Do you give my new capital your blessing?”

  “Since the Sia spoke to your heart, why would you need my approval?”

  “Because my father’s spirit is in this garden, and both of us hear his voice.”

  “The signs were clear, Ramses. Your reign opens a new era, and Pi-Ramses will be your capital.”

  The Pharaoh took his mother’s hands in his own.

  “You’ll see my city, mother, and be glad.”

  “A word, son. I’m concerned about your protection.”

  “Serramanna is a professional.”

  “I’m talking about your magical protection. Have you thought about building your Eternal Temple?”

  “I’ve picked the site, but for now Pi-Ramses is my priority.”

  “Don’t forget your Eternal Temple. If the forces of darkness are unleashed upon you, it will be your strongest ally.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  The setting was magnificent.

  Fertile land, broad fields, thick grass, flower-lined footpaths, apple orchards full of honeyed fruit, a flourishing olive grove, teeming ponds, salt marshes, dense thickets: here sat Avaris, once so despised, now reduced to a handful of houses and a temple to the god Set.

  This was where Seti had taught his son the meaning of power. This was where Ramses would build his capital.

  The beauty and lushness of the countryside surprised Moses; the Hebrews and their Egyptian foremen were part of the expedition Ramses had led in person, with his pets in tow. Serramanna, on high alert, rode ahead with a scouting party of ten.

  The little town of Avaris dozed in the sun. Its only inhabitants were government workers in dead-end jobs, slow-moving peasants, and papyrus gatherers. The place seemed suspended in time.

  The expedition had made a stop in Heliopolis, where Ramses had made an offering to his patron, Ra, then headed toward Bubastis (home to Bastet, the pleasure-loving cat goddess) and along the Pelusiac branch of the Nile, dubbed the “Waters of Ra.” Near Lake Menezaleh, Avaris was at the western end of the “Road of Horus,” leading across the Sinai coastline toward Palestine and Syria.

  “A strategic location,” commented Moses, studying the map Ramses had shown him.

  “Do you understand the reasons for my choice now? With the aid of a canal, the Waters of Ra will give us access to the lakes around the isthmus of el-Qantara. In an emergency, we can reach the fortress of Sileh by boat, and the smaller frontier outposts as well. I’ll be reinforcing the eastern side of the Delta, standing in the way of invasions, and closer to the source of any potential trouble in our protectorates. The summers are milder here. Our garrisons won’t suffer from the heat and they’ll remain more alert.”

  “You’re a man of vision,” said Moses admiringly.

  “How do things look with your workers?”

  “They seem happy with the plan, but the increased wages you’re offering probably have a lot to do with that.”

  “If I’m generous, they’ll give me their best. I want a splendid city.”

  Moses bent to study the map again. Four major temples were planned: to the west, one to Amon, “The Hidden”; to the south, the temple of Set, the local deity; to the east, a shrine to Astarte, the Syrian goddess; and to the north, the temple of Wadjet, “The Verdant,” patroness of the fertile Delta. Near the temple of Set would be the river landing. This was the meeting point of two broad canals, linking the Waters of Ra and the Waters of Avaris, which surrounded the city and supplied drinking water. Close to the port lay warehouses, granaries, and workshops. Farther north, in the center of town, were the palace, government buildings, noblemen’s villas, and residential neighborhoods where grand and humble dwellings stood side by side. The main street led away from the palace toward the temple of Ptah, with two side roads leading to the sanctuaries of Amon and Ra. Set’s temple was set apart, on the opposite side of the canal connecting the Ra and Avaris branches.

  There were also four military barracks, one between the Pelusiac branch and the government buildings, the three others along the Waters of Avaris—the first behind the temple of Ptah, the second bordering the residential neighborhoods, the last near the temples of Ra and Astarte.

  “Production of ceramic tile is ready to start tomorrow,” revealed Ramses. “From the smallest house to the biggest hall in the palace, Pi-Ramses will sparkle with color. But first they have to be built, and that’s where you come in, Moses.”

  With his right index finger, Moses showed where t
he various buildings in the monarch’s plan would be situated.

  “It’s ambitious. I like the way you think on a grand scale. Still . . .”

  “Yes, Moses?”

  “No offense, Majesty, but one temple is missing. It could easily go there.” He gestured between the temples of Amon and Ptah.

  “What god would it honor?”

  “The god who created the institution of Pharaoh. The temple where your rededication will be celebrated.”

  “For that to happen, I’ll have to reign thirty years. To build it now would be tempting fate.”

  “You’ve left room for it, though.”

  “Leaving it out of my plans would also be tempting fate. If I do reach Year Thirty of my reign, I want you at my side, along with our other old friends.”

  “Thirty years . . . who knows what God has in store for us?”

  “For the moment, he’s telling us to build the capital of Egypt together.”

  “I’ve divided the Hebrews into two groups. The first will transport blocks of stone to the temple sites and work under Egyptian supervisors. The second will manufacture the thousands of bricks to be used in your palace and government buildings. Coordinating the two groups will be awkward; I’m afraid my newfound popularity won’t last. Do you know what the men call me? Masha, ‘Rescued from Drowning.’”

  “Is this some miracle I haven’t heard about?”

  “No, an old Babylonian legend they’re fond of repeating. It’s a pun on my name, which means ‘He Who Is Born.’ In their eyes, the gods have blessed me. A Hebrew, educated at the royal academy and friend to Pharaoh! God saved me from drowning in poverty and misfortune. A man with my luck deserves to be followed. That’s why the brickmakers trust me.”

  “Treat them well. You have my permission to use the royal granaries if you lack provisions.”

  “I’ll build your capital, Ramses.”

  The Hebrew brickmakers tied white headbands around the black wigs that stopped above their ears, and wore mustaches or trim beards. They were possessive of their expertise. Syrian and Egyptian brickmakers tried to compete with them, but the Hebrews remained the best and most sought after in the trade. The work was hard and closely supervised by Egyptian foremen, but the pay was decent and the leave days liberal. Here in Egypt, the food was good, lodging fairly easy to find. The hardier souls among them even built themselves comfortable homes with salvaged materials.