“You’ve been hounding a fellow by the name of Abner.”
“Never heard of him.”
“You’re lying, Sary. You threatened him and extorted his wages.”
“He’s only a Hebrew brickmaker.”
Moses tightened his grip. Sary groaned. “I’m only a Hebrew, too,” said Moses, “but I could break your arm and cripple you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“My patience is wearing thin, I warn you. Stop bothering Abner or I’ll drag you headfirst into court. Now swear it!”
“I . . . I swear not to bother him again.”
“In the name of Pharaoh?”
“. . . the name of Pharaoh.”
“Break your oath and you’re done for.”
Moses released him. “You’re getting off easy, old man.”
If he weren’t in such a hurry to leave the country, he’d surely initiate formal proceedings. He hoped a warning would be sufficient, but leaving the house, his mind was not at ease. He had read hatred, not submission, in Sary’s dark expression.
Moses hid behind a palm tree. He didn’t have long to wait.
Carrying a bludgeon, Sary slipped out of the house, walking south toward the brickmakers’ quarters.
Moses kept a good distance between them until he saw his old teacher go through the open door of Abner’s house. Almost at once, he heard cries of pain.
He ran into the house and in the semidarkness saw Sary clubbing Abner, who crouched on the dirt floor, shielding his face with his hands. Moses grabbed the bludgeon from Sary and whacked him on the back of the skull. The Egyptian collapsed, blood streaming down his neck.
“Get up, Sary, and off with you!”
But Sary lay still as Abner crept closer.
“Moses . . . it looks like . . . he’s dead!”
“He can’t be. I didn’t hit him that hard!”
“He isn’t breathing.”
Moses bent over and touched the body—the corpse?
He had just killed a man.
In the street outside it was quiet. “Run for it,” said Abner. “If they arrest you . . .”
“You’ll defend me, Abner. You’ll explain I was saving your life!”
“Who’d believe me? They’d say it was a cover-up. Go, Moses, run fast!”
“Do you have a big sack around?”
“Yes, for my tools.”
“Let me have it.”
Moses stuffed Sary’s body inside and hoisted the sack over his shoulder. He’d find some sandy spot where he could dig a shallow grave, then hide in an unoccupied villa until he could gather his wits.
The police dog let out a high-pitched whine and strained on his leash, which was most unusual for him. When the patrolman released him, the greyhound bolted toward a sand-strewn vacant lot.
The dog was digging fast. By the time the patrol caught up, the policemen saw him unearth an arm, then a shoulder, then the face of a dead man.
“I know him,” said one of the policemen. “It’s Sary.”
“The king’s brother-in-law?”
“That’s the one. Look, there’s dried blood on his neck!”
They freed the body. There could be no doubt: Sary had been killed by a blow to the back of the head.
All night long, Moses paced like a Syrian bear in its cage. What he’d done was wrong, trying to hide the body of a villain like Sary, fleeing justice when it would have absolved him. But there had been Abner, his fear, his hesitation . . . and they were both Hebrews. Moses’ enemies would be sure to twist the incident and bring about his downfall. Even Ramses would side with them and punish him harshly.
Someone had just entered the half-finished villa. The police, so soon? He would put up a fight. He would never surrender.
“Moses, Moses, it’s me, Abner! Come out if you’re hiding here!”
He stepped from the shadows. “Will you testify in my favor, Abner?”
“The police have discovered Sary’s body. You’re accused of murder.”
“But who . . .”
“My neighbors. They saw you.”
“But they’re Hebrews, like us!”
Abner hung his head. “They don’t want trouble with the law. I know how they feel. Run, Moses. You have no future here in Egypt.”
Moses was appalled. The king’s construction supervisor and potential vizier, reduced to being a fugitive from justice! In the space of a few hours, to fall from the pinnacle into the abyss . . . God must have sent him this suffering to try his faith. Instead of a comfortable but empty life in a heathen country, God was offering him freedom.
“I’ll leave at dark. Farewell, Abner.”
Moses departed through the brickmakers’ quarters. He hoped to convince a handful of followers to leave with him and form a sect that would eventually attract other Hebrews, even if their first homeland was only an isolated desert region. He had to set the example, no matter what the cost.
A few lamps shone. Children slept, housewives chatted on doorsteps. Beneath the awnings, their husbands drank herb tea before heading off to bed.
In the street where his closest followers lived, two men were fighting. As he drew near, he could see that it was his two most vocal supporters, quarreling over a stepladder one had supposedly stolen from the other.
Moses broke up the fight.
“You!”
“Stop fighting over a trifle and come with me. We’ll leave Egypt and go in search of our new homeland.”
The older of the two men eyed Moses with disdain. “Who made you our guiding star? If we don’t obey you, will you kill us, like you murdered the Egyptian?”
Stricken, Moses found no answer. A grandiose dream shattered inside him. He was no better than a criminal on the run, utterly abandoned.
FIFTY-NINE
Ramses insisted on viewing Sary’s body. He was the new capital’s first fatality.
“It was murder, Your Majesty,” affirmed Serramanna. “A violent blow to the back of the head with some kind of club.”
“Does my sister know yet?”
“Ahmeni saw to it.”
“Is the suspect in custody?”
“Majesty . . .”
“What aren’t you telling me? No matter who it is, he’ll be tried and sentenced.”
“Majesty . . . there’s a warrant out for Moses.”
“That’s absurd.”
“The police have witnesses.”
“Reliable witnesses?”
“All Hebrews. The most damaging statement came from a brickmaker named Abner. He saw it happen.”
“What does he say?”
“That they scuffled, it got out of hand. Moses and Sary were not on the best of terms. My sources tell me they’d already quarreled in Thebes.”
“What if all the witnesses had the wrong man? Moses can’t be a murderer.”
“A police scribe recorded sworn statements from all the brickmakers.”
“Moses will explain.”
“No, Your Majesty. He’s on the run.”
The Pharaoh ordered a search of every house and building in Pi-Ramses, but nothing came of it. Mounted policemen combed the Delta questioning villagers, but found no trace of Moses. The northeastern border patrol received strict guidelines, but they may well have come too late.
Ramses was frustrated to find that his daily updates gave no clue as to which route Moses had taken. Was he hiding in a fishing village along the Mediterranean? Had he stowed away in a boat heading south, or taken refuge in some remote monastery?
“You should eat something,” urged Nefertari. “Since Moses disappeared, you really haven’t had a good meal.”
Ramses gave his wife’s hands a tender squeeze. “Moses was exhausted. Sary must have provoked him. If he were here in front of me, he could explain. The fact that he ran away tells me he was at wit’s end.”
“Will he be able to live with himself?”
“I’m afraid he won’t.”
“Your dog is sad. He thin
ks you’re neglecting him.”
Ramses let Watcher jump on his lap. Wriggling with joy, the dog licked his master’s face, then rested his head on his shoulder.
“My three years on the throne have been wonderful . . . The additions to Luxor completed, the Eternal Temple under way, the new capital dedicated, Nubia under control—and now this calamity! Without Moses, the world I’ve begun to build won’t hold together.”
“You’ve been neglecting me, too,” said Nefertari in a hushed voice. “Can’t I help you rise above this suffering?”
“Yes. Only you, my darling.”
Shaanar and Ofir met by the docks at Pi-Ramses, now bustling with activity. Foodstuffs, furnishings, household goods, and countless other supplies needed in the new capital were being unloaded every day. Boats brought in donkeys, horses, cattle. The grain silos filled, cellars were stocked with fine wines. Discussions as heated as any in Memphis or Thebes were heard among the wholesalers vying to establish trade in the new capital.
“Now Moses is only an outlaw, Ofir.”
“It doesn’t seem to upset you much.”
“You were wrong about him. He never would have changed sides. His rash action has cost Ramses a valued associate.”
“Moses is an honest man. His faith in the One God is no mere whim.”
“Let’s stick with the facts. Either he’ll turn himself in or he’ll be arrested and sentenced. We no longer have any hope of using the Hebrews to our advantage.”
“Those who believe in Aton are no strangers to hardship. We’ve struggled on for years. This won’t stop us. I hope we can count on your help.”
“Don’t press me. I need to know about your concrete plans.”
“Every night I work to undermine the health of the royal couple.”
“How can you touch them? You know that they have the Eternal Temple now, too . . .”
“Ramses has many projects under way, but none of them are finished. We’ll have to capitalize on the slightest sign of weakness, be ready to rush in when the first breach opens.”
The sorcerer’s manner, calm yet firm, impressed Shaanar. If the Hittites succeeded with their plan, Ramses’ ka would certainly be compromised. Ofir’s magical attacks would further sap the king’s strength. Resilient as he was, eventually Ramses would falter.
“Keep it up, Ofir. Perhaps you’ve heard that I never forget a favor.”
Setau and Lotus had decided to found a new laboratory at Pi-Ramses. Ahmeni, in his spanking new offices, worked day and night. Tuya kept the court running smoothly. Nefertari performed her religious and queenly duties. Iset the Fair and Nedjem were busy bringing up Kha. Meritamon was blooming. Romay the steward puffed from palace kitchens to wine cellar, wine cellar to state dining room. Serramanna tinkered with his security procedures. Life in Pi-Ramses was orderly and peaceful, but for Ramses, nothing was the same without Moses.
Despite their differences, his old friend’s strength had been a gift that helped Ramses achieve his vision. Moses had put his soul into the city he left behind, and it showed. Their final conversation proved that his friend had fallen victim to evil influences, was caught in invisible bonds.
A spell—someone had cast a spell on him.
Ahmeni, juggling an armload of scrolls, hurried toward the king as he paced his audience chamber.
“Ahsha just got here. He wants to see you.”
“Show him in.”
Although suave in his elegant pale green robe with red trim, the young diplomat looked less the trendsetter than usual.
“It distressed me that you missed the dedication,” Ramses told him.
“The head of the State Department represented me, Majesty.”
“But where were you?”
“In Memphis, collecting the dispatches from my information network.”
“Shaanar mentioned Hittite troop movements in central Syria.”
“It’s more than troop movements, and it goes much farther than Syria,” Ahsha said with uncharacteristic gruffness.
“I thought my dear brother might be exaggerating. He likes to make himself look important.”
“If anything, he minimized the danger. Now that I’ve checked my own sources, I’m convinced that the Hittites have launched a full-scale campaign in Canaan and Syria—all of Syria. Even the ports of Lebanon are under threat.”
“Have there been direct attacks on our garrisons?”
“Not yet, but they’ve moved into areas we considered neutral and taken villages. Before this it’s only been political maneuvering in our territories, apparently nonviolent, but the Hittites have taken de facto control of Egyptian territory—provinces under our jurisdiction and supposedly sending us tribute.”
Ramses bent over the map of the Near East spread out on a low table.
“The Hittites are working their way down a corridor to our northeast. They plan to invade,” the king predicted.
“Too early to say that, Majesty.”
“Why else would they be heading in this direction?”
“To extend their territory, cut us off, sow panic in our protectorates, hurt Egypt’s reputation, demoralize our army . . . take your pick.”
“What does it look like to you?”
“Like war.”
Ramses drew a quick slash of red ink across the Anatolian peninsula, home of the Hittites.
“A bloodthirsty people. Unless we stop them, they represent a threat to civilization as we know it.”
“Diplomacy . . .”
“Too late for that.”
“Your father negotiated . . .”
“A buffer zone around Kadesh, I know. But the Hittites won’t honor it. They honor nothing. I demand a daily report on their movements.”
Ahsha bowed. Ramses no longer spoke as a friend, but as a commanding pharaoh.
“Have you heard that Moses is a fugitive from justice, wanted for murder?”
“Moses? It’s unbelievable.”
“I think someone set him up. Put out a bulletin through your network, Ahsha, and find him for me.”
Nefertari was playing the lute in the palace garden. To her right lay the cradle where her plump and rosy-cheeked daughter napped; on her left sat Kha, cross-legged, reading a tale full of wizards and demons. Just in front of her was Watcher, trying to dig up the tamarisk sapling Ramses had planted the day before. Nose in the dirt, front paws flying, he worked so doggedly that the queen didn’t have the heart to scold him.
Suddenly he stopped and ran to the garden gate. His barking and jumping could only mean a visit from his master.
The sound of her husband’s footsteps told Nefertari that his heart was heavy. She rose to meet him.
“Is it Moses?”
“No, I’m sure he’s all right.”
“Not . . . not Tuya.”
“My mother is fine.”
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s Egypt, Nefertari. The dream is over . . . the dream of a country where peace and prosperity rule, where each day is a blessing.”
The queen shut her eyes.
“War?”
He nodded. “There’s no way around it.”
“You’re leaving, then.”
“Who else should command the army? If we don’t stop the Hittites, it’s death to Egypt.”
Little Kha glanced up at the embracing couple, then went back to his story. Meritamon napped. Watcher kept digging.
In the tranquil garden, Nefertari clung to Ramses. In the distance, a white ibis took flight above the wheat fields.
“So long apart, Ramses. Where will we find the courage to go on?”
“In the love that unites us and always will, no matter what happens. While I’m gone, you’ll act as my regent, queen of my Turquoise City.”
Nefertari looked off at the horizon.
“You’re right to go,” she told him. “Never negotiate with evil.”
The white ibis soared majestically above the royal pair, bathed in the glow of sunset.
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br /> *Early June 1279 B.C., according to one of the most commonly used estimates.
Ramses, Volume II Page 29
