Ramses, Volume II

by Christian Jacq

  “We can’t seem to stop it.”

  “I told you not to touch it!”

  “We thought—”

  Moses’ chariot sped back through town. The scene in front of the temple of Amon was chaotic. A two-hundred-ton statue of the king seated on his throne was slowly slipping toward the facade. It could either collide with the building, causing enormous damage, or fall from its sledge and shatter. What a sight to greet Ramses at the dedication!

  Fifty or more men strained desperately, holding the ropes that secured the giant sculpture to a wooden sledge. Where rope touched stone, several leather pads had already split.

  “What happened?” asked Moses.

  “The foreman climbed up on the statue to help guide it into place. He fell, and the men pulled the wooden brakes to stop the sledge. It jumped the track and kept going. There was dew on the ground, the runners were already wet . . .”

  “You should have a gang of at least a hundred and fifty!”

  “There isn’t a hand to spare.”

  “Bring me jugs of milk.”

  “How many?”

  “Thousands! And get more men here as fast as you can.”

  Seeing Moses in action, the struggling workers quieted. When he climbed along the right side of the statue, perched on the granite apron, and poured milk in front of the sledge to lay a new track, they took hope. A brigade formed to pass jugs to Moses. Following his directives, the first spare hands to arrive on the scene tied long ropes to the sides and back of the sledge, slowing the statue’s momentum.

  Little by little, the colossus moved back on track.

  “The braking beam!” shouted Moses.

  Thirty men sprang into action, hauling the notched log into place. It would halt the sledge at the spot where Ramses’ statue would sit, in front of the temple of Amon.

  The colossus, righted and slowed, slid easily into place.

  Dripping with sweat, Moses hopped down, glowering. The men feared the punishment that was sure to come.

  “Bring me the man responsible for this fiasco, the man who fell off the statue.”

  “Here he is.”

  Two workmen pushed Abner forward. He fell to his knees in front of Moses.

  “Forgive me,” he groaned. “I had a spell, I . . .”

  “Aren’t you one of my brickmakers?”

  “Yes. My name is Abner.”

  “Why were you working here?”

  “I . . . I’m in hiding.” He gulped.

  “Have you lost your senses?”

  “I can explain.”

  Abner was a Hebrew; at least he deserved a hearing. Moses could see that the man was distraught and would only talk to him one-on-one.

  “Come with me, Abner.”

  An Egyptian architect stepped in front of them. “This man is responsible for a serious incident. Letting him off would be an insult to his co-workers.”

  “I’ll question him and take it from there.”

  The architect bowed to the project supervisor. If Abner had been an Egyptian, Moses would surely have shown less consideration. Lately he had shown a favoritism toward his fellow Hebrews that was bound to backfire.

  Moses helped Abner into his chariot and fastened a leather strap around him.

  “Enough falls for one day, don’t you think?”

  “Please, Moses, forgive me!”

  “Get a grip on yourself, man, and tell me what happened.”

  In front of Moses’ residence was a breezeway. The two men hopped down from the chariot and went inside. Moses took off his wig and kilt, gesturing toward a large jug.

  “Get up on the ledge,” he ordered Abner, “and pour that water slowly over my shoulders.”

  As Moses briskly rubbed his skin with herbs, the brickmaker emptied the heavy jug.

  “Cat got your tongue, Abner?”

  “I’m afraid.”

  “Why?”

  “Someone’s after me.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “If you won’t tell me, I’ll turn you in for disciplinary action.”

  “No! I’ll never work again.”

  “Wouldn’t that be fair?”

  “No! I give you my word.”

  “Then talk.”

  “I’ve been the victim of extortion.” Abner sighed.

  “Who’s doing this to you?”

  “An Egyptian.”

  “Out with it, man!”

  “I can’t name names. He has connections.”

  “Then I can’t help you.”

  “If I tell you, he’ll try to get even!”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “I was planning to tell you, but I’m too scared.”

  “Stop shaking and give me a name. I’ll take care of him for you.”

  Abner trembled so violently that the jug slipped from his hands and shattered.

  Groaning, he said, “Sary.”

  The royal fleet navigated the grand canal leading to Pi-Ramses. Every member of the court, it seemed, was accompanying the Pharaoh and the Great Royal Wife. No one could wait to see the new capital, which would be the place to live if you sought the king’s favor. There was a great deal of negative speculation, bordering on criticism: how could a city built so quickly be any match for Memphis? It would be a major setback for Ramses, and sooner or later he’d be forced to abandon his new capital.

  In the prow, the Pharaoh was watching the Nile fan into its Delta when the boat tacked toward the canal.

  Shaanar sidled up to his brother.

  “I know this is hardly the time, but I have a serious matter to discuss with you.”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  “I’m afraid not. If I’d been able to speak to you sooner, I wouldn’t have to intrude on this happy occasion. But you were out of reach.”

  “I’m listening, Shaanar.”

  “You did me a favor appointing me secretary of state, and I wish I could repay you with nothing but the best of news.”

  “And that’s not the case?”

  “If reports reaching me are to be believed, the international situation leaves something to be desired.”

  “Get to the point.”

  “The Hittites seem to have gone beyond the limits our late father established and invaded central Syria.”

  “Is that fact or hearsay?”

  “It’s too early to tell, but I wanted to be the first to inform you. In the recent past, the Hittites have tended to engage in provocation, then back away. We can hope that this is simply another bluff. Still, it would be wise to take certain precautions.”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  “Are you skeptical?”

  “You said yourself that the reports haven’t been verified. Once you have solid information, let me know.”

  “At your service, Majesty.”

  The current was strong, there was a good tailwind, and the boat sailed briskly. Shaanar’s announcement left Ramses thoughtful. Did his older brother really take his new position seriously? He was capable of inventing reports of a Hittite invasion, just to show how well he was running his department.

  Central Syria . . . a neutral zone where neither nation maintained a military presence, relying instead on patchy intelligence networks. Since Seti had refrained from taking the Hittite stronghold of Kadesh, the fighting had been small-scale and intermittent.

  Perhaps the creation of Pi-Ramses, a strategic threat, had roused the Hittites to action. They may have decided the young pharaoh was looking toward Asia and their empire. Only one man could sort out the truth for him: his friend Ahsha, head of the Secret Service. The official reports that reached Shaanar would be fragmentary, while Ahsha’s sources would reveal the enemy’s real intentions.

  A mate who had shimmied to the top of the mast began to cheer.

  “Ahoy! There it is, the port, the town . . . Pi-Ramses!”

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Alone in a golden chariot, the Son of Light rode down the main thor
oughfare of Pi-Ramses, toward the temple of Amon. At high noon, he appeared in full force, like the life-giving sun. Alongside the two plumed horses marched his lion, head high, mane in the wind.

  Stunned by the power their monarch radiated, as well as the magic that permitted him to have the king of beasts as a bodyguard, the crowd at first was completely silent. A single cry rose: “Long live Ramses!” Then another, ten more, a hundred, a thousand . . . The jubilation was indescribable as the king made his slow and majestic way down the avenue.

  Nobles, tradesmen, country folk were dressed for a feast day. Their hair shone with moringa oil, the women wore their best wigs, children and servants threw armfuls of flowers and greenery in the royal chariot’s path.

  An open-air banquet was being prepared. The steward of the new palace had ordered a thousand loaves of the whitest bread, two thousand rolls, ten thousand pastries, mounds of dried meat, milk, bowls of carob, grapes, figs, pomegranates. Roast goose, game, fish, cucumbers, and leeks would also be on the menu, not to mention thousands of jars of wine from the royal cellars and vats of beer brewed the previous evening.

  The king had invited all his people to celebrate his capital’s birthday.

  No little girl was without a colorful new dress, no horse without bright bands of cloth and copper rosettes, no donkey without a garland of flowers around its neck. Pet dogs, cats, and monkeys would have an extra feeding. Elders, no matter what their station in life, would be served first, seated in comfort beneath sycamore and persea trees.

  Official requests would be collected—for government positions, plots of land, livestock—and carefully examined by Ahmeni. Generosity and indulgence were the order of the day.

  The Hebrews joined in the festivities. Their labors had earned them a well-paid leave as well as the satisfaction of building the new capital of the kingdom of Egypt with their own hands. Their accomplishments would go down in history.

  A hush fell over the assembled crowd as the chariot drew to a halt before the colossal statue of the Pharaoh that had come so close to toppling the day before.

  Ramses looked heavenward, meeting the giant’s stony stare. It wore the twin crowns of upper and lower Egypt, one white, one red, entwined with the uraeus—the figure of a cobra spitting acid venom to blind the king’s enemies. Seated on his throne, hands resting on his kilt, the granite Pharaoh looked on his works.

  Ramses stepped down from his chariot. He, too, wore the double crown, and was dressed in a billowing robe of gauzy linen; beneath it shone a gilded linen kilt held in place with a belt of silver. A broad gold collar covered his chest. He addressed the statue.

  “You are my ka incarnate, the spirit of my reign and my city. I open your mouth, your eyes, your ears. I pronounce you a living being. Anyone who dares attack you will die.”

  The sun was at its zenith, directly overhead the Pharaoh. He turned to his people.

  “Pi-Ramses is born, Pi-Ramses is our capital!”

  Thousands of enthusiastic voices took up the chorus.

  All day long, Ramses and Nefertari had traveled broad avenues, streets and alleys, visiting each section of Pi-Ramses. Dazzled, the Great Royal Wife dubbed it “The Turquoise City,” a phrase that was instantly on everyone’s lips. That was Moses’ final surprise for the king: the facades of villas, houses, and modest dwellings had been tiled in a luminous blue. The faience workshop had been Ramses’ idea, but he had never imagined that so many tiles could be produced in so short a time, providing the city with a visual unity.

  A dashing Moses served as master of ceremonies. There was no doubt now that Ramses would name his old friend as vizier and closest adviser. It was obvious how well they understood each other and how perfectly Moses had translated the Pharaoh’s plans and wishes for his new capital.

  Shaanar was furious. Ofir had either lied about his influence over the Hebrew, or grossly miscalculated. Moses was poised to become a rich man, a government insider. Confronting Ramses over religious differences would be suicide. Besides, his people were so well assimilated that they had no desire to change the status quo. Shaanar’s only true allies remained the Hittites. Dangerous as vipers, but allies.

  A reception was held in the royal palace, its great columned hall adorned with harmonious scenes from nature. In this enchanted setting, Nefertari appeared lovelier and more charming than ever. The king’s consort, magical protectress of the royal residence, found the right thing to say to each courtier.

  Everyone admired the painted tile flooring, in delightful patterns evoking garden ponds, flowers in bloom, ducks flitting in a papyrus thicket, lotus blossoms, darting fish. Pale green, light blue, off-white, golden yellow, and deep purple blended in a tone poem singing the praises of creation.

  Scoffers and nay-sayers were reduced to silence. Pi-Ramses’ temples were still far from completion, but in terms of luxury and refinement, the palace was in every way the equal of Memphis and Thebes. The court could feel quite at home. The aristocracy and government officials were already planning their villas in Pi-Ramses.

  Another miracle for Ramses—an incredible string of miracles.

  “Nothing you see would be here without this man,” declared Pharaoh, laying a hand on Moses’ shoulder. Conversations broke off.

  “Protocol dictates that I should sit upon my throne, Moses should prostrate himself before me, and I should reward him for his faithful service with collars of gold. But he is my friend, my oldest friend, and we have worked side by side. I conceived the idea for this capital; he carried out my plans.”

  Ramses took Moses in a solemn embrace, the highest accolade a pharaoh could bestow.

  “Moses will remain a few more months as chief of construction, until his replacement is trained. Then he will come to work at my side for the greater glory of Egypt.”

  Shaanar’s worst fears were confirmed. The two of them combined would be harder to deal with than an entire army.

  Ahmeni and Setau congratulated Moses and were surprised to note his nervousness. They put it down to the emotion of the moment.

  “I don’t like the way he’s building me up,” their friend objected.

  “You’d make an excellent vizier,” Ahmeni said firmly.

  “Still, you’d have to answer to this wretched little scribe,” teased Setau. “He’s the one who really gives the orders.”

  “Watch it, snake man!”

  “The food is wonderful. If Lotus and I can scout out some new species, we may find a place nearby. Has anyone seen Ahsha? Why isn’t he here today?”

  “No idea,” said Ahmeni.

  “You’d think he’d be more diplomatic.”

  The three friends saw Ramses walk up to his mother, Tuya, and kiss her on the forehead. Despite the hint of sadness that would never leave her grave and lovely face, Seti’s widow shone with pride. When she announced she was moving her household to the palace for an extended stay at Pi-Ramses, her son’s triumph was complete.

  The palace aviary was finished but not yet stocked with the exotic birds that would delight both the ear and the eye. Leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, features drawn and tense, Moses could not look Ramses in the eyes. He had to forget the man and address an adversary, the Pharaoh of Egypt.

  “Everyone is sleeping, except for you and me.”

  “You look exhausted, Moses. Can’t this talk wait until tomorrow?”

  “No. I have to stop pretending.”

  “Pretending what?”

  “I’m a Hebrew. I believe in the One True God. You’re an Egyptian and you worship idols.”

  “Not this again.”

  “It disturbs you because it’s the truth.”

  “You’ve been instructed in the wisdom of the Egyptians, Moses. Your One God, shapeless and unknowable, is the hidden power within each speck of life.”

  “He doesn’t appear as a sheep!”

  “Amon is the secret of life, revealing himself in the gust of wind that fills the sails of the bark, the curving ram’s horns tha
t mirror the harmony of all creation, the stone that gives shape to our temples. He is all of that and none of that. You know these ancient teachings as well as I do.”

  “It’s all an illusion. There’s only One God.”

  “Does that prevent him from taking the form of his many creatures, while remaining one?”

  “He doesn’t need your temples and your statues.”

  “I’m telling you, again, Moses, you’ve been under too much strain.”

  “I know what I believe. Even you can’t change that.”

  “If your god makes you intolerant, be careful. He’ll turn you into a fanatic.”

  “You’re the one who ought to be careful, Ramses! A movement is gathering strength in this country, still tentative, but a force for the truth nonetheless.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In your grandfather’s time there was Akhenaton, who shared our beliefs. He blazed the trail. Listen for his voice, Ramses. Listen to me. Or else your empire may crumble.”

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  For Moses, the situation was clear. He hadn’t betrayed Ramses’ trust and had even warned him of the peril that lay ahead. He could proceed with an easy conscience, following his destiny and unleashing the fire in his heart.

  The One God, Yaweh, lived in a mountain. He would go in search of it, no matter how difficult the journey might prove. A few other Hebrews had decided to risk losing everything and leave Egypt with him. As he finished packing, Moses remembered the one pressing matter he should resolve before he said goodbye to his native land.

  It was only a short distance to Sary’s estate on the west side of town. The house was set in an old and thriving palm grove. He found his old teacher drinking cool beer by a fish pond.

  “Moses! What a pleasure to see the real power behind Pi-Ramses! To what do I owe this honor?”

  “The pleasure is all yours, and it certainly isn’t an honor.”

  Sary rose, insulted. “You may be the man of the hour, but you have no right to be rude. Remember who you’re talking to.”

  “A second-rate crook?”

  Sary struck out at Moses, but the Hebrew caught his wrist. He crumpled and fell to his knees.