Ramses, Volume II

by Christian Jacq

  The six midwives knew that Nefertari’s labor would be long and its outcome uncertain.

  “May the goddess Hathor grant the queen a child,” chanted one of the women. “May no sickness touch it. Begone, demon of darkness, with your insidious ways. You will never embrace this infant, put it to sleep, harm it, or carry it off. May the spirit move in the child, may no evil spell touch it, may the stars be favorable.”

  As night fell, the contractions came closer together. Bean paste was packed around the queen’s teeth so that she could clench them without undue strain.

  Professional, focused, reciting ancient incantations to banish pain, the six midwives helped the Queen of Egypt bring forth new life.

  Ramses couldn’t stand it a moment longer. When Dr. Pariamaku reappeared for the tenth time, he thought the king might fly at his throat.

  “Is it finally over?”

  “Yes, Majesty.”

  “Nefertari?”

  “The queen is alive and well and you have a daughter.”

  “How is the baby?”

  “Too soon to tell . . .”

  The king pushed past the physician and charged into the delivery room, where one of the midwives was cleaning up.

  “Where are they? The queen and my daughter?”

  “In a palace bedchamber, Majesty.”

  “Tell me the truth!”

  “The baby is very weak.”

  “I demand to see them.”

  Relieved, radiant, but exhausted, Nefertari slept. The head midwife had given her a sedative.

  The baby was remarkably beautiful. Fresh, her eyes at once astonished and curious, the child of their love greeted life for the miracle it was.

  The king held her. “She’s perfect! Why do you think something’s wrong?”

  “The cord broke on the amulet we were putting around her neck. A bad omen, Majesty, a very bad omen.”

  “Have the signs been read?”

  “We’re waiting for the prophetess to complete her predictions.”

  The prophetess appeared a few minutes later. With the six midwives, she formed the circle of the Seven Hathors, foreseeing the newborn’s destiny. Huddled around the infant, they went into a trance.

  Their meditation seemed to last a very long time.

  Grim-faced, the prophetess broke away from the circle and approached the king.

  “The time isn’t right, Your Majesty. We have been unable—”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “We may be wrong.”

  “Just tell me what you see.”

  “The next twenty-four hours are critical. If we don’t find a way to dispel the demons eating away at her heart, your daughter won’t live through the night.”

  FORTY-TWO

  The royal infant’s blooming wet nurse had been personally checked by Dr. Pariamaku. Her milk had the pleasant odor of carob flour. To augment her milk supply, the nurse had been drinking fig sap and eating roasted fish spines ground up in oil.

  Much to the distress of the doctor and wet nurse, the baby would not take the breast. Another nurse was called in, with the same result. The final remedy, a special reserve of milk kept in a hippopotamus-shaped vessel, worked no better. The child would not take the thick milk flowing from the animal’s teats.

  The doctor moistened his tiny patient’s lips and was preparing to wrap her in damp cloths when Ramses took her in his arms.

  “She’s becoming dehydrated, Majesty!”

  “Your treatments can’t help her. She’ll take her strength from me.”

  Holding his tiny daughter tight to his chest, the king went to Nefertari’s bedside. Despite her exhaustion, the queen was radiant as ever.

  “I’m so happy, Ramses! Nothing can harm her now.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Don’t worry about me. Have you thought of a name for our baby?”

  “That’s up to the mother.”

  “We’ll call her Meritamon, ‘Beloved of Amon.’ She’ll see your Eternal Temple finished. While I was in labor, I had the strangest sensation . . . you need to start work on it right away. It will be your best defense against the forces of evil and keep us united against adversity.”

  “You’ll have your wish, I promise.”

  “Why are you holding her so tight?”

  Nefertari’s gaze was so clear, so trusting, that Ramses was unable to keep the truth from her.

  “Meritamon isn’t well.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She won’t take the breast, but I’ll make her better.”

  The queen sank back into the bed. “I’ve already lost one child, and now death is trying to take our daughter. It’s dark, dark . . .”

  Nefertari swooned.

  “Your diagnosis, Doctor?” asked Ramses.

  “The queen is very weak,” Pariamaku replied.

  “Can you save her?”

  “I don’t know, Majesty. If she survives, she mustn’t have any more children. Another pregnancy would be fatal.”

  “And our daughter?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. She seems so peaceful, now that you’re holding her. The midwives may be right, although I find their hypothesis absurd.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “They think she’s under some sort of magic spell.”

  “A spell, here, in my palace?”

  “That’s why I didn’t take it seriously. Still, it might be a good idea to consult the court magicians . . .”

  “But what if one of them is involved? No, there’s only one thing left to do.”

  Meritamon slept in her father’s powerful arms.

  The court buzzed with rumors: Nefertari’s child was stillborn; the queen was near death; Ramses was mad with despair. While not daring to believe them, Shaanar hoped there might be some truth to these excellent reports.

  On the way to the palace with his sister, Dolora, Shaanar put on a grave and tearful face. His sister seemed genuinely grief-stricken.

  “Been taking acting lessons, sister dear?”

  “Can’t you see that I’m upset?”

  “You don’t care about Ramses or Nefertari.”

  “No, but the baby . . . the baby isn’t responsible.”

  “I had no idea you were so sentimental. If the rumors are true, things are looking up for us.”

  Dolora could never tell Shaanar what was really upsetting her: Ofir’s successful spell. To break through the royal couple’s defenses and shatter their lives, the Libyan must have extraordinary reserves of black magic.

  Ahmeni, paler than ever, received Dolora and her brother.

  “Given the circumstances,” said Shaanar, “we thought the king might like his family nearby.”

  “Sorry, he’d rather be alone.”

  “How is Nefertari?”

  “The queen is resting.”

  “The baby?” asked Dolora.

  “Dr. Pariamaku is attending her.”

  “Can you tell us anything more definite?”

  “That’s all I know.”

  As Shaanar and Dolora left the palace, they saw Serramanna and his guard detail escorting a scruffy-looking, bareheaded man, dressed in a strange antelope-skin tunic studded with pockets. They were walking briskly toward the royal couple’s private apartments.

  “Setau! You’re my last hope.”

  The snake charmer walked up to the king and gazed at the baby in his arms.

  “I don’t care for babies, but that one’s a beauty. The mother’s looks, of course.”

  “Meet our daughter, Meritamon. She’s dying, Setau.”

  “Come again?”

  “She’s under a spell.”

  “Has it come from inside the palace?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What has it done to her?”

  “She won’t take the breast.”

  “Nefertari?”

  “Sinking fast.”

  “I suppose good old Pariamaku has resigned the ca
se?”

  “He’s not at all sure what to do.”

  “Is he ever? Put your daughter down in the cradle. Gently, now.”

  Ramses did as he was told. The moment he let go of Meritamon, her breathing grew labored.

  “Your strength is all that’s keeping her alive. Just as I feared. What’s this now? The baby isn’t even wearing an amulet! Don’t they know anything in this palace?”

  Setau dug a scarab amulet out of a pocket, strung it on a fine cord with seven knots, and put it around Meritamon’s neck. The scarab bore the inscription: “Ravenous death will not take me, divine light will preserve me.”

  “Pick her up again,” ordered Setau, “and show me the palace laboratory.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to—”

  “We’ll discuss it later. Every minute counts now.”

  There were several sections to the palace laboratory. Setau shut himself up in the room where male hippopotamus tusks were stored. He selected one and carved it into an elongated crescent moon. He smoothed the surface without damaging the ivory, then carved several symbols with the power to repel the forces of darkness visiting themselves upon the vulnerable mother and child. A winged griffin with a lion’s body and falcon’s head, a female hippo brandishing a knife, a frog, a shining sun, a bearded dwarf with fists full of snakes—these, he considered, were best suited to the situation. Describing his magical helpers aloud as he carved, he empowered them to attack and destroy all demons, male and female, in their path. Next, he prepared a potion of viper venom to clear the opening to Meritamon’s stomach, though even the minutest of doses might be too much for a newborn.

  When Setau emerged, Dr. Pariamaku was running frantically toward him.

  “Hurry! The baby is almost gone.”

  Looking out at the sunset, Ramses held his daughter, trustfully slumbering against him. Despite his magnetism, her breathing was growing ragged. Nefertari’s baby, the only child of their union who might survive . . . If Meritamon died, Nefertari would follow. Anger welled up in the king’s heart, an anger that would repel the creeping shadows and save his daughter from their evil grip.

  Setau entered the chamber, holding the newly carved tusk.

  “It ought to break the spell,” he explained. “But it’s not enough. We can’t reverse the damage to her internal organs unless she swallows this potion.”

  When he told them what it was made of, Dr. Pariamaku shook his head.

  “I can’t recommend this, Majesty!”

  “Are you sure it will work, Setau?”

  “I admit it’s dangerous. You have to decide.”

  “Let’s go ahead,” said Ramses.

  FORTY-THREE

  Setau laid the carved tusk on Meritamon’s chest. Snug in the cradle, her huge eyes inquisitive, the infant breathed peacefully.

  Ramses, Setau, and Dr. Pariamaku remained silent. The talisman seemed to be working, but would it last?

  Ten minutes later, Meritamon began to fuss.

  “Have them bring a statue of the goddess Opet,” ordered Setau. “I’m going back to the laboratory. Doctor, moisten the baby’s lips, and make sure that’s all you do.”

  Opet, the female hippopotamus, was the patroness of midwives and wet nurses. In the heavens, she took the form of a constellation separating the Great Bear (linked to Set, and therefore potentially destructive) from the reborn Osiris. Magicians from the House of Life had charged the statue with positive energy. Filled with mother’s milk, it was placed at the head of the cradle.

  Meritamon stopped crying and dozed off again.

  Setau reappeared, holding a crudely carved tusk in each hand. “Not pretty,” he said, “but they ought to do the trick.”

  He laid one tusk on the baby’s stomach and the other at her feet. Meritamon did not stir.

  “A field of positive forces is protecting her now. The spell has been broken, the evil undone.”

  “Is she out of danger?” asked the king.

  “Not unless she takes the breast. The passage to her stomach has to open, or she’ll die.”

  “Give her your potion.”

  “No, you.”

  Ramses gently parted his sleeping daughter’s lips and poured the amber liquid into her tiny mouth as Dr. Pariamaku looked the other way.

  Moments later, Meritamon opened her eyes and cried.

  “Quick!” said Setau. “The statue!”

  Ramses picked up his daughter, Setau removed the thin metal stopper in the statue’s nipple, the king brought the baby’s mouth to meet it.

  Meritamon gulped the life-giving liquid, barely stopping to catch her breath, and gurgled with contentment.

  “What can I do to thank you, Setau?”

  “Nothing, Ramses.”

  “I’ll appoint you director of the palace magicians.”

  “They can get along without me. How’s Nefertari doing?”

  “Amazingly well. She can walk in the garden tomorrow.”

  “And the baby?”

  “She can’t get enough of life.”

  “What were the Seven Hathors’ predictions?”

  “The black cloud over Meritamon’s future has lifted. They saw vestments, a woman of great nobility, the stones of a temple.”

  “Sounds forbidding, for a princess.”

  “You deserve a richer life, too, Setau.”

  “My snakes, my desert creatures, and Lotus are enough for me.”

  “You’ll have unlimited credit. As for your venom production, the palace will pay top price for it and redistribute it to the hospitals.”

  “I don’t want any favors.”

  “It’s no favor, since your pharmaceuticals are the best in Egypt. You deserve to make a profit and invest in more research.”

  “There is one thing . . .”

  “Anything.”

  “Do you still have any of that red Faiyum wine from Year Three of your father’s reign?”

  “I’ll have several jars of it sent your way tomorrow.”

  “Let me know how many vials of venom I’ll owe you.”

  “For you, no charge.”

  “I don’t like presents, especially coming from the Pharaoh.”

  “Think of it as a gift from a friend. It would make me feel better. Tell me, where did you learn the technique you used to save Meritamon?”

  “My snakes teach me almost everything, and Lotus knows the rest. Nubian sorcerers are peerless, believe me. The amulet I put around your daughter’s neck will do her a world of good, providing you have it recharged every year.”

  “I’m giving you and Lotus an official residence.”

  “In town? You can’t be serious. How would we do our work? We need the desert, the dark, the danger. Speaking of danger, that was quite an unusual spell they cast on Meritamon.”

  “Explain.”

  “I had to use extreme measures because the spell was so strong. There was some foreign wizardry at work—Syrian, Libyan, Hebrew, maybe. Without three magic tusks, I’d never have been able to break through the negative force field. Not to mention the fact that it takes an exceptionally twisted mind to go after a newborn baby.”

  “A palace magician, do you think?”

  “That would surprise me. No, someone comfortable with evil.”

  “He’ll try again.”

  “Of that you can be sure.”

  “How can we find him and put him out of commission?”

  “I haven’t the least idea. Any fiend so powerful is certainly a master of deception. It could even be someone you’ve met, who would have seemed perfectly ordinary. Or he could be hiding in some well-concealed lair.”

  “How can I keep my wife and my daughter safe?”

  “Stick to the proven methods: amulets and rituals.”

  “What if that’s not enough?”

  “You’ll need to surround yourself with energy more powerful than black magic.”

  “A base that generates energy,” mused Ramses.

  The Eternal Te
mple . . . that would be his best hope.

  Pi-Ramses was growing.

  Not quite a city yet, but buildings and houses mushroomed in the imposing shadow of the palace. Its stone foundations rivaled those of its Thebes or Memphis counterparts. The work was proceeding at lightning pace. Moses seemed tireless and continued to run a model work site. Seeing results so quickly made everyone from master builders to rough laborers eager to see the project to completion. Some planned to live in the capital their own hands were helping to build.

  Two Hebrew clan chiefs, resentful of Moses’ growing authority, had tried to challenge him. Before he could even respond, the brickmakers had unanimously demanded that he remain their leader. From that moment on, Moses became the uncrowned king of his people without a homeland. He was so consumed with the task of building Pi-Ramses that his mental turmoil abated.

  The news that Ramses would soon be touring the work site made him glad. Bad omens had followed his last visit. The sighting of certain birds made the men uneasy about the queen and her baby. For days, their spirits were low. Moses told them not to worry, betting that Ramses would be back before they knew it—and Ramses was proving him right.

  Serramanna, try as he might, could not stop the workers from lining up on both sides of the royal chariot’s route through town. Then men wanted to touch their pharaoh, to have his magic rub off on them. The Sard muttered curses. What if one of them had a dagger? Why wouldn’t Ramses listen?

  The king headed straight for Moses’ temporary quarters. When he alighted, Moses bowed, but once they were inside, out of public view, the old friends embraced.

  “If we can keep going at this rate, we may just meet your ridiculous deadline.”

  “Let me guess: you’re ahead of schedule!”

  “So it seems.”

  “This time I want to see everything.”

  “I think you’ll be pleased. May I ask after Nefertari?”

  “The queen is very well indeed. So is our daughter. Meritamon will be a beauty, like her mother.”

  “I hear you had a close call.”

  “Setau was the one who saved them.”

  “With his pharmaceuticals?”

  “No, he’s become quite adept at magic. He broke an evil spell someone cast on my pregnant wife.”