Ramses, Volume IV

by Christian Jacq

  Stooped and weary, with a barrel chest, short legs, and darting dark eyes, Emperor Muwattali felt the cold keenly. He sat by the fire, wearing his woolen cap and long red and black coat even inside the palace.

  Despite the defeat at Kadesh and the failure of his counteroffensive, Muwattali still felt safe in his mountain stronghold. There was a lower town and an upper town topped with a citadel where the imperial palace stood. Gigantic fortifications carved into the cliff made Hattusa an impregnable fortress.

  Yet the proud and invincible city now echoed with criticism of the emperor. For the first time, his acute sense of strategy had not led his army to victory.

  On the miles of ramparts, bristling with turrets and battlements, soldiers kept watch day and night as everyone wondered whether tomorrow Muwattali would continue to preside over the empire’s fortunes. Until recently, the man they dubbed “Great Chief” had successfully checked any challenges to his position, but now doubt was creeping in.

  Two men coveted the throne: the emperor’s son, Uri-Teshoop, who had the support of the military elite, and Hattusili, Muwattali’s brother, a clever diplomat who had organized a powerful coalition against Egypt. With the aid of costly gifts, Muwattali was attempting to hold this coalition together.

  The emperor had just spent a delightful afternoon with a lovely, amusing, and cultured young woman who had made him forget his cares. He wished he could devote his life to memorizing love poems, as she did, and forget about military posturing. But that was only a dream, and a Hittite emperor had neither the time nor the right to dream.

  Muwattali rubbed his hands over the fire. He was still having trouble deciding: should he eliminate his brother, his son, or both? A few years earlier, he would have had to act quickly and brutally. A number of plotters, as well as a number of rulers, had succumbed to poison, the method of choice at the Hittite court. Now, however, the rivalry between the two men might better serve his purposes. Hattusili and Uri-Teshoop seemed to cancel each other out, allowing him to appear as an indispensable mediator.

  Another factor, unfortunately, also entered into his decision. His government was on shaky ground. The repeated military defeats, the expense of war, the disruption of international trade, all threatened the existence of the vast Hittite empire.

  Muwattali had prayed at the Storm God’s temple, the showpiece among all twenty-one of the lower town’s shrines. Like every celebrant, he had broken three loaves and poured wine on a block of stone, intoning, “May it last forever.” This time the emperor meant his country. His worst nightmare was seeing it conquered by Egypt and betrayed by its allies. How much longer would he be able to gaze out from his citadel at the terraced cliffs studded with mansions, or down to the monumental gates to his capital?

  The chamberlain notified the emperor that his guest had arrived, passing through a number of checkpoints on the way to the imperial palace, which was surrounded by reservoirs, stables, an armory, and a guard post.

  Muwattali liked to receive his guests in a cold and forbidding pillared hall decorated with arms to commemorate various military victories.

  He would recognize Uri-Teshoop’s heavy martial tread anywhere. Tall, muscular, robust, with flowing locks and a reddish fleece covering his body, he had established himself as a fearsome warrior always ready for combat.

  “How are you these days, my son?”

  “Not well, Father.”

  “You look to me in excellent form.”

  “Have you called me here to discuss my health?” snapped Uri-Teshoop.

  “Remember who you’re talking to,” Muwattali said sternly.

  Uri-Teshoop deflated. “Forgive me. My nerves are on edge.”

  “What has you so riled?”

  “I was the commander of a victorious army, and now I’m reduced to serving as Hattusili’s underling, when he lost the day at Kadesh! Isn’t that a waste of what I have to offer my country?”

  “Without Hattusili, the coalition would never have been formed.”

  “What good did it do us? If you’d let me have my way, I would have beaten Ramses!”

  “You keep making the same mistake, son. Why dwell on the past?”

  “Get rid of Hattusili and put me back in charge where I belong.”

  “Hattusili is my brother. Our allies respect him, and the merchants listen to him. Without their cooperation, the war effort doesn’t exist.”

  “Then what do you propose I do?”

  “We must all overcome our differences and unite to save Hatti.”

  “Save Hatti? I didn’t know it was in danger.”

  “We haven’t gotten the better of Egypt yet, and all around us alliances are shifting. Our situation could change more quickly than I once supposed.”

  “Then who has time for talk? I was born to fight, Father, not to waste time in intrigues that end up diminishing Hatti’s stature.”

  “Don’t be too hasty, son. If we’re to regain our supremacy, we must first address our internal divisions. The first step, as I see it, is your immediate reconciliation with Hattusili.”

  Uri-Teshoop slammed a fist into one of the pillars holding up the mantel. “Never! Don’t make me grovel to that worthless coward!”

  “Healing our differences can only make us stronger.”

  “Lock your brother and his wife up in a temple and let me march on Egypt. That’s what will make us stronger!”

  “Do you refuse any form of reconciliation?”

  “I do.”

  “Is that your final word?”

  “Get rid of Hattusili and I’ll pledge you my support—mine and the army’s.”

  “Should a son set conditions on the love he bears his father?”

  “You’re more than a father. You’re the Emperor of Hatti. All our decisions should be in the country’s best interest. You know I’m right. In time you’ll come around to my way of thinking.”

  The emperor looked haggard. “Perhaps I will. I need to think it over.”

  Leaving the audience chamber, Uri-Teshoop felt certain he had convinced his father. Soon the aging emperor would have no choice but to grant his son full decision-making powers, eventually yielding the throne to him.

  Wearing a red robe, a golden necklace, silver bracelets, and leather sandals, Hattusili’s wife, Puduhepa, was burning incense in the crypt beneath the temple of Ishtar. At this late hour, the citadel was plunged in silence.

  Two men were descending the staircase. Hattusili, short like his brother and wearing a headband and a heavy multicolored cloak, with a silver cuff on his right elbow, walked in front of the emperor.

  “It’s so cold down here,” said Muwattali, clutching his woolen mantle tighter around his shoulders.

  “It’s not very comfortable,” admitted Hattusili, “but it’s the once place that we can be sure is completely private.”

  “Would you like to sit down, Your Majesty?” inquired Puduhepa.

  “This stone ledge is fine. Despite my brother’s long journey, he looks less fatigued than I am. What do you have to report, Hattusili?”

  “I’m concerned about the state of our coalition. Certain of our allies appear ready to back out on us. They’re increasingly greedy in their demands, but I’ve managed to satisfy them so far. I’m afraid the coalition has become extremely expensive. However, that’s not the worst of it.”

  “Say what you mean.”

  “The Assyrians have begun to pose a threat.”

  “Since when do the Assyrians amount to anything?”

  “They’ve followed our example. Apparently they believe our recent defeats and internal conflicts have weakened us and that they should strike us when we’re down.”

  “We’d trounce them in a matter of days!”

  “I’m not so sure. And would it be a good idea to divide our army when Ramses is preparing to attack Kadesh?”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “According to our spies, Ramses is planning a new offensive. This time the Canaanites and Bedou
ins won’t stand in his way. He’ll head straight for Hatti, and we shouldn’t have half our forces off battling Assyrians.”

  “Then what’s our best course, in your opinion?”

  “We need to heal our internal rifts. That has to come first. The conflict between your son and me has gone on too long and done us no good. I’m prepared to meet with him and acquaint him with my view of the situation. We’re at a turning point. If we can’t come together now, we’ll never last.”

  “Uri-Teshoop won’t hear of it. He’s demanding that I put him back in command of our troops.”

  “To go head-to-head with the Egyptians and risk a final defeat!”

  “As he sees it, a frontal attack is our best defense.”

  “You’re the emperor. You’ll have to choose between the two of us. If you opt for you son’s course of action, I’ll concede.”

  Muwattali walked a bit to warm himself.

  “There’s only one reasonable solution,” the handsome Puduhepa calmly announced. “As emperor, you are the guardian of Hatti’s greatness. The fact that Hattusili is your brother and Uri-Teshoop your son is of no importance compared to the safety of our people. You know perfectly well that Uri-Teshoop’s warmongering can only lead to disaster.”

  “Then what is your reasonable solution?”

  “Since no one can convince a madman, Uri-Teshoop has to be eliminated. And since both you and Hattusili should remain above suspicion, I’ll see to it myself.”

  NINETEEN

  Moses stood up in his cell.

  “You, here?”

  “The prosecution gave me permission to see you.”

  “Does Pharaoh need permission to visit his prisons?”

  “In your case, yes, since you’re being tried for murder. But first of all you’re my friend.”

  “So you haven’t rejected me.”

  “Would I abandon a friend in need?”

  Ramses and Moses met in a long embrace.

  “Man of little faith,” chided the king, “why did you run away?”

  “Sheer panic, at first. At least that was what I thought. Later, in Midian, I began to see things differently. It wasn’t an escape; it was a call.”

  Moses’ cell was clean and well ventilated, with a dirt floor. The king sat down on a three-legged stool, facing his Hebrew friend.

  “And where did this call come from?”

  “The god of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. A call from Yahweh.”

  “Yahweh is the name of a mountain in the Sinai desert. I’m not surprised to hear it used for a god. After all, the Peak of the West, in Thebes, is the home of the goddess of silence.”

  “Yahweh is the One God. He’s everywhere, not only in the desert.”

  “How did you spend your exile, Moses?”

  “I met God on that mountaintop. He appeared to me as a burning bush and told me His name: ‘I Am.’”

  “Why limit himself to a single aspect of reality? Atum, the creator, is both ‘He Who Is’ and ‘He Who Is Not.’”

  “Yahweh has given me a mission, Ramses, a sacred mission that may not be to your liking. I have to deliver the Hebrew people from Egypt and lead them to a Holy Land.”

  “Have you really heard the voice of God?”

  “It was clear and deep as your own voice.”

  “The desert is full of mirages.”

  “You can’t make me doubt what I saw and heard for myself. God has determined my mission; I plan to fulfill it.”

  “When you say the Hebrews, do you mean all of them?”

  “The whole Hebrew people will be freed from bondage in Egypt.”

  “But you’re already free to come and go as you please.”

  “I demand official recognition of my people’s faith and permission to begin an exodus.”

  “The first thing is getting you out of prison. That’s why there’s a search on for Abner. His testimony will give you an instant acquittal.”

  “Abner may have left the country.”

  “You have my word: no effort will be spared to bring him before the court.”

  “My friendship for you is unchanged, Ramses, and when I learned of your war against the Hittites, I hoped you’d win. But you’re the Pharaoh, and I’m the future leader of the Hebrews. If you won’t grant my request, I’ll become your most implacable foe.”

  “Can’t friends always find some common ground?”

  “Our friendship is less important than my mission. Even if it tears my heart in two, I must obey the voice of Yahweh.”

  “We’ll have time to talk it over. Now let’s concentrate on getting you acquitted.”

  “I don’t mind being in prison. The solitude helps me prepare for ordeals to come.”

  “A heavy sentence could be the first one you’re facing.”

  “Yahweh will protect me.”

  “I hope so, Moses. Now think: is there anything else in your past that might help your case?”

  “I told the truth and the truth will out.”

  “You’re not giving me much help.”

  “When you’re Pharaoh’s friend, why worry about injustice? I know you won’t rest unless justice rules.”

  “Did you ever meet a man named Ofir?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “He would have been posing as an architect. Did he contact you in Pi-Ramses while you were in charge of construction? He could have been preaching Akhenaton’s banned religion.”

  “Yes, now that you mention it.”

  “Did he propose anything specific?”

  “No, but he seemed sensitive to the Hebrew people’s distress.”

  “Distress? Isn’t that an exaggeration?”

  “You’re an Egyptian. You can’t understand.”

  “All right. But let me warn you that Ofir is a Hittite agent who was heading a spy ring here in Egypt. He’s also a murderer. Any collusion with him could bring a charge of high treason against you.”

  “Anyone willing to help my people deserves my thanks.”

  “How can you hate the land where you were born?”

  “My life as a child and young man, our school days in Memphis, the years I spent helping you build your vision . . . all of that is gone and forgotten, Ramses. I love only one land: the Promised Land where God will lead my people.”

  Nedjem, the secretary of agriculture, was flustered. Usually friendly and cheerful, today he had snapped at his secretary for no reason. Unable to concentrate on his work, he left his office and headed for Setau and Lotus’s laboratory.

  Lovely Lotus was bent over a thrashing redheaded viper.

  “Move that copper bowl,” she ordered Nedjem.

  “I don’t know if . . .”

  “Hurry up.”

  Nedjem reluctantly retrieved the bowl, which contained a thick brownish liquid.

  “Don’t spill a drop, it’s very corrosive.”

  Nedjem trembled. “Where can I put it down?”

  “On the shelf there.”

  Lotus slid the viper into a basket and fastened the lid.

  “What can I do for you, Nedjem?”

  “You and Setau . . .”

  “Is someone asking for Setau?” came the snake charmer’s gruff voice.

  Disturbing vapors escaped from vials of various sizes. On the shelves sat pots and strainers, gourds and tubing, philters and potions.

  “What I came to say . . .” A coughing fit prevented Nedjem from continuing.

  “Well, go ahead and say it!”

  Unkempt, abrupt, and square-shouldered, barely visible in the smoke-filled section of the laboratory where he was working, Setau was decanting diluted venom.

  “It’s about young Kha.”

  “What’s the matter with him?”

  “Well, you’ve . . . Kha has . . . What I’m trying to say is that up to now I’ve seen to his education. He loves to read and write, displays an exceptional maturity for his age, the knowledge he already has would be the envy of many scribes, and yet he goes on probing
the secrets of heaven and earth, he wants . . .”

  “I know all that, Nedjem, and I’m a busy man. Get to the point.”

  “You . . . you’re not an easy man, Setau.”

  “Life isn’t easy. When you spend your time around snakes, you quickly learn to dispense with trifles.”

  “This isn’t a trifle!” Nedjem said, hurt to the quick.

  “Then will you finally say what you want to say?”

  “All right. I’ll just be direct. Why are you leading Kha astray?”

  “You barge into my laboratory, Nedjem, disturb my work, and on top of it you insult me! You may be one of Ramses’ top officials, but I’m about ready to punch you in the nose.”

  Nedjem backed away, bumping into Lotus.

  “Forgive me . . . It’s not that . . . but the boy . . .”

  “You think Kha’s too young to be learning magic?” the Nubian beauty asked with a winning smile.

  “Yes, that’s it,” said Nedjem, brightening.

  “Your reservations do you justice, but your fears are unfounded.”

  “But for a child so young to deal with such an ancient body of knowledge, and one so dangerous . . .”

  “Pharaoh has ordered us to protect his son. If we’re to do that, Kha must be involved.”

  “Protect him? But from what?”

  “Do you like beef stew?” asked Lotus.

  “I . . . yes, of course.”

  “It’s one of my specialties. Would you stay for lunch?”

  “Oh no, I’d be imposing . . .”

  “Stay,” urged Setau. “Kha is no fragile little thing. He’s Ramses’ eldest child. Someone is trying to attack him, to weaken the royal family and the country as a whole. We’ll build a magic wall around young Kha to repel the evil influences working against him. It’s a job that demands precision. The work will be hard and the outcome uncertain. Lotus and I need all the help we can get, Nedjem.”

  TWENTY

  In the Hebrew quarter, beams were laid across the rooftops and reeds woven through them to shelter the narrow streets from the sun. Housewives conversed on their doorsteps. When the water bearer came by, they paused to take a drink, then resumed their endless discussions. Neighborhood craftsmen chimed in when they took a break; brickmakers on their way home from work stopped to have a word.