“We can be your allies.”
“I don’t need you.”
“You may be overestimating your people’s strength. Unarmed, you’ll never fulfill your dream, my friend.”
“I’ll use my own weapons.”
“If the Hebrews join forces with the Bedouins,” said Keni, “they’ll make a real army.”
“And what would this army do?”
“Fight the Egyptians and win!”
“A dangerous notion,” said Moses, frowning.
“Who are you to criticize? Leading your people out of Egypt, defying Ramses, putting yourself above this country’s laws . . . your ideas are just as dangerous, I’d say.”
“Who told you about my plans?”
“Every brickmaker knows what you’re up to! They even say that you’ll raise the standard of Yahweh, the warrior god, and seize control of the kingdom.”
“Then their imagination is running away with them.”
A wicked gleam showed in Keni’s shrewd eyes. “The fact remains that you plan to lead a Hebrew uprising against the Egyptian government.”
“Get away from me, both of you.”
“You’re making a mistake, Moses,” insisted Amos. “Your people will have to fight, and they lack experience. We could help you train them.”
“Go now and leave me to my thoughts.”
“As you wish . . . but we’ll be seeing you.”
Ambling along on their donkeys like simple peasants, and furnished with traveling papers signed by Meba, the two Bedouins stopped to rest in a field south of Pi-Ramses. They were just beginning their meal of onions, fresh bread, and dried fish, when two other men joined them.
“How did your talk with Moses go?” inquired Ofir.
“He’s a stubborn character,” Amos admitted.
“Try threats,” insisted Shaanar.
“It wouldn’t work. Let him go ahead with his crackpot plans. Sooner or later he’ll realize he needs us.”
“Have the Hebrews accepted him?”
“The acquittal made him a people’s hero, and the brickmakers believe he’ll defend their rights as he did before.”
“What do they think of his exodus?”
“It’s very controversial, but there are a few firebrands in the younger generation who dream of independence.”
“Encourage them,” said Shaanar. “The more trouble they stir up, the greater the challenge to Ramses. If he suppresses the movement, it will make him unpopular.”
Amos and Keni were the two surviving members of what had once been a thriving Hittite spy ring in Egypt. Working outside the commercial loop, they had escaped detection by Serramanna. They still had useful contacts in the Delta.
Ofir, Shaanar, Amos, and Keni formed a virtual war council, meeting to launch a fresh offensive against Ramses.
“Where are the Hittite troops?” asked Ofir.
“Bedouin spotters tell us they’re holding their position around Kadesh,” Keni answered. “The garrison has been reinforced in preparation for an Egyptian attack.”
“I know my brother,” Shaanar said acidly. “He’ll strike while the iron is hot.”
At the battle of Kadesh, Amos and Keni had lured Ramses into an ambush, letting themselves be captured and pretending to crack under pressure, then feeding him false information. By rights the Pharaoh never should have left Kadesh alive. The Bedouins were still smarting from the defeat.
“What are the orders from Hatti?” the sorcerer inquired of Keni.
“Use every possible means to destabilize Ramses.”
Ofir knew only too well what this vague directive signified. On one hand, Egypt had regained control of the buffer states, and the Hittites did not feel up to winning them back; on the other, the emperor’s son and brother were locked in a desperate struggle to wrest the power from Muwattali, who was hanging on by a thread.
The defeat at Kadesh, the failed counteroffensive in Canaan and Syria, and the protectorates’ capitulation to Egyptian rule seemed to prove that the Hittite empire was on the wane and riddled with divisions. But this sad reality would not keep Ofir from pursuing his mission. Once Ramses toppled, Hatti would blaze anew.
“Keni, Amos,” Ofir commanded, “I want you to continue infiltrating the Hebrews. Your agents should profess their belief in Yahweh and encourage the brickmakers to follow Moses. Dolora, the king’s elder sister, will serve as our palace informant. I plan to work on Kha, break through the magic wall around him.”
“I’ll handle Ahsha,” muttered Shaanar.
“You’ll be wasting your time,” snapped Ofir.
“I want to kill him with my own hands. Then I’ll go after my brother!”
“What if you started with him instead?”
The sorcerer’s suggestion ignited Shaanar’s smoldering hatred for the tyrant who had cheated him out of his rightful place on the throne.
“I’m going back to Pi-Ramses to coordinate our efforts,” announced Ofir. “You head south, Shaanar.”
The renegade prince scratched his beard. “You mean I’m to try to disrupt Ramses’ journey?”
“I expect more of you.”
“What’s my assignment?”
Ofir was forced to unveil Muwattali’s strategy. “When the Hittites invade the Delta, the Nubians will flood across the southern border and attack Elephantine. Ramses won’t be able to put out so many fires at once.”
“What kind of manpower will I have?”
“A squadron of well-trained warriors is waiting for you near the City of the Horizon of Aton, along with Nubian tribal chiefs we’ve been plying with bribes for the last several months. Ramses has no idea that he’s sailing up the Nile straight into the trap we’ve set for him. You’re to make certain he doesn’t come back alive.”
A smile spread across Shaanar’s face. “I don’t believe in God, singular or plural, but I’m beginning to trust my luck again. Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”
“I had my orders,” Ofir informed him.
“And today you’re ignoring them?”
“I trust you, Shaanar. Now you know the scope of my mission in Egypt.”
Livid, Shaanar pulled some grass, threw it into the wind, stood up, and took a few steps. Finally, he was being given the power to act on his own, without the sorcerer’s direct control. Ofir relied too heavily on the occult; he, Shaanar, would adopt a less complicated and more brutal strategy.
He was already bursting with ideas. He would find a way to cut short Ramses’ southern journey. Nothing else mattered now.
Ramses . . . Ramses the Great, whose unprecedented success tormented his brother. Shaanar had no illusions about his own shortcomings, but he did have one quality that had remained intact through all his reversals of fortune: his dogged persistence. Ramses might be a formidable adversary, but Shaanar’s ever-increasing hatred was a match for his brother’s power. His hatred would give him the strength to waylay the Lord of the Two Lands.
For a moment, steeped in the peace of the countryside, Shaanar wavered.
What blame could he pin on his brother? Since he first took the throne, Seti’s successor had given his all to his country, his people. He had sheltered them from adversity, shown uncommon valor in war, guaranteed prosperity and justice.
What could Shaanar find to blame him for, except being Ramses the Great?
TWENTY-FIVE
Assembling his advisory body of select representatives from the military and merchant classes, Emperor Muwattali recalled the words of his predecessors: “In our day, murder has become commonplace among the royal family; the queen was assassinated, along with the king’s son. We therefore deem it necessary to decree that no one may draw sword or dagger against a member of the royal family, nor kill them in any other way, and that there be cooperation in choosing a successor to the ruling monarch.”
While stressing that his succession was not an issue, the emperor said he was gratified that murder was no longer prevalent, reasserting his trust in Hattusili, his broth
er, and Uri-Teshoop, his son. He renewed the latter’s command as head of the imperial army and put his brother in charge of stimulating the economy and maintaining strong ties with Hatti’s foreign allies. In other words, he stripped Hattusili of any military powers and made Uri-Teshoop untouchable.
Uri-Teshoop’s triumphant smile and Hattusili’s downcast expression left no doubt as to whom Muwattali had chosen as his successor, without mentioning names.
Weary and stooped, muffled in his black and red woolen cloak, the emperor made no further comment on his decisions. He withdrew, surrounded by his bodyguard.
Mad with rage, Puduhepa stomped on the silver earrings her husband, Hattusili, had given her the evening before.
“Your brother the emperor blindsided you this time,” railed the handsome priestess. “He’s treating you like dirt!”
“Muwattali has always been a secretive man. And he’s left me important duties.”
“Without the army, you’re only Uri-Teshoop’s puppet.”
“I still have connections among the generals and the fortress commanders along the frontier.”
“But your nephew is already the acknowledged master of the capital!”
“Uri-Teshoop frightens the moderates.”
“How much will we have to offer to keep them on our side?” asked Puduhepa.
“The merchants will help us.”
“I don’t understand what’s come over the emperor. He seemed to disapprove of his son. He went along with my plan to get rid of him.”
“Muwattali never acts on impulse,” Hattusili reminded her. “He must have heard rumblings from the military, and he’s trying to calm them down by putting Uri-Teshoop back in charge.”
“It doesn’t make sense! Why set him up to seize power?”
Hattusili thought for quite a while before answering.
“I wonder if the emperor isn’t trying to send us a subtle message. Uri-Teshoop is becoming Hatti’s strongman. Therefore, he’ll no longer take us seriously. Isn’t this the very best time to attack him? I’m convinced that it’s Muwattali’s way of telling you to hurry. It’s time to strike, and strike quickly.”
“I was hoping that one day soon Uri-Teshoop would come to have his omens read at the temple of Ishtar. With his new appointment, he’ll need it done right away. The new head of the Hittite army needs to know his future, and only a look at a vulture’s entrails can tell it. I’ll handle the consultation myself. Once he’s dead, I’ll explain that the wrath of the gods killed Uri-Teshoop.”
Heavily laden with tin, fabrics, and foodstuffs, the donkeys made their plodding way into the Hittite capital. The lead men drove them to a counting house where a merchant checked invoices, issued bills, signed contracts, and threatened creditors.
The principal representative of the merchant class, an obese sexagenarian, strode through the commercial district, keeping a watchful eye on business transactions. He was quick to intervene in any dispute. When Hattusili crossed his path, the professional smile left his face. Wearing a headband and a crude multicolored garment, the emperor’s brother appeared more nervous than usual.
“The news is bad,” confessed the merchant.
“Problems with your suppliers?”
“No, much worse than that: Uri-Teshoop.”
“But the emperor left me in charge of the economic sector!”
“Uri-Teshoop doesn’t seem to notice.”
“What kind of trouble is he causing?”
“The emperor’s son has decided to impose a new tax on each commercial transaction, to go toward his soldiers’ pay.”
“I’ll lodge a strong protest.”
“It won’t do any good.”
Hattusili was lost in a storm. For the first time, the emperor had failed to take him into his confidence and he was hearing important news secondhand.
“I’ll ask the emperor to repeal this tax.”
“He’ll refuse,” predicted the merchant. “Uri-Teshoop wants to rebuild the military by crushing the merchant class and appropriating our riches.”
“I’ll oppose it.”
“May the gods help you, Hattusili.”
For more than three hours, Hattusili was made to wait in a small, cold palace antechamber. Usually he was shown directly in to see his brother; today two members of Muwattali’s personal bodyguard had blocked his way and a chamberlain had noted his request for an audience without promising anything.
Night was falling when Hattusili finally spoke to one of the guards. “Tell the chamberlain I can’t wait much longer.”
The soldier hesitated, shot a glance at his comrade, then ducked out of the room. The remaining guard seemed ready to use his lance if Hattusili tried to force his way inside.
The chamberlain reappeared with six grim-looking soldiers. The emperor’s brother thought they might arrest him and throw him in prison forever.
“What are you here for?” inquired the chamberlain.
“To see the emperor.”
“Didn’t I tell you that he’s not receiving visitors today? It’s useless to wait any longer.”
Hattusili withdrew. The guards stayed in place.
As he was leaving the palace, he ran into Uri-Teshoop. More forceful than ever, the commander-in-chief of the Hittite army looked right through his uncle.
From atop the palace, Emperor Muwattali surveyed his capital, Hattusa. The fortified city sat on an enormous rock formation in the midst of arid steppes. It had been built to attest to a nation’s invincible strength. At the very sight of it, any invader would turn tail. No one could ever take control of its battlements, no one could reach the gates of the imperial citadel that towered over the temples.
No one but Ramses.
Since this last pharaoh had assumed the throne of Egypt, he had sent shock waves through Muwattali’s stronghold and dealt severe blows to his empire. At times, the hideous possibility of defeat even crossed his mind. He’d avoided a total disaster at Kadesh, but would his luck hold? Ramses was young, a conquering hero, a favorite of the gods. He would never relent until the Hittite threat to Egypt was eliminated.
He, Muwattali, the chief of a warrior people, must devise another strategy.
The chamberlain announced Uri-Teshoop.
“Show him in.”
The prince’s martial tread shook the flagstones.
“May the Storm God watch over you, Father! The army will soon be ready to regain lost ground.”
“Haven’t you just imposed a new tax that angers the merchants?”
“They’re cowards and leeches! A percentage of their profits will help build up our army.”
“You’re encroaching on the territory I entrusted to Hattusili.”
“What do I care about Hattusili? Didn’t you just refuse to see him?”
“I don’t have to justify my decisions.”
“You’ve chosen me as your successor, Father, as well you should have. The army is gratified and the people feel more secure. Rely on me to reassert our strength and slaughter the Egyptians.”
“I appreciate your valiance, Uri-Teshoop, but you still have much to learn. Hatti’s foreign policy can’t be reduced to a perpetual conflict with Egypt.”
“There are only two kinds of men: the victors and the vanquished. The Hittites have always been victors. I plan to keep it that way.”
“Plan to obey my orders.”
“When will we attack?”
“I have other priorities, my son.”
“Why delay a conflict so crucial to the empire?”
“Because we must negotiate with Ramses.”
“The Hittites negotiate with an enemy? Your mind must be going, Father.”
“I forbid you to take that tone with me!” Muwattali said testily. “Kneel to your emperor and apologize.”
Uri-Teshoop remained immobile, arms crossed.
“Do as I say, or . . .”
Panting, his lips twisted into a grimace, eyes glazed, Muwattali clutched his chest and collap
sed on the flagstone floor.
“My heart . . . my heart feels like a stone . . . call for the doctor.”
“I demand full powers. From here on in, I’ll be the one who issues the army’s orders.”
“The doctor, quickly!”
“Give up the throne.”
“I’m your father. You’re just going to let me . . . die?”
“Give up the throne.”
“I will. You have . . . you have my word.”
TWENTY-SIX
The council of tribal chiefs listened attentively to Moses. The acquittal had increased his popularity to such an extent that the man now known as “The Prophet” could not be ignored.
“God protected you,” Libni opened gruffly. “Give Him praise and spend the remainder of your existence in prayer.”
“You know my true intentions.”
“Don’t press your luck, Moses.”
“God has ordered me to lead the Hebrew people out of Egypt, and I’ll obey Him.”
Aaron pounded the floor with his staff.
“Moses is right. We must win our independence. When we have our own homeland, we’ll be happy and prosperous. Let’s all leave Egypt together and fulfill the will of Yahweh!”
“Why expose our people to such peril?” Libni said vehemently. “The army will massacre the insurgents, the police will arrest all sympathizers!”
“First we must banish fear,” recommended Moses. “Our faith will give us the strength to overcome Pharaoh and avoid his wrath.”
“Why can’t we be content with serving Yahweh here, in the land where we were born?”
“God spoke to me on the mountain,” Moses reminded them. “It’s God who has traced your course. Refusing to follow would be the end of us.”
Kha was fascinated. Setau was telling him about the energy that circulates in the universe and animates all living things, from a grain of sand to a star. A concentrated form of that energy, he said, was found in statues of the gods. Ramses’ eldest son, inside the temples where Setau gained him admittance, could never get his fill of contemplating their bodies of stone.
The child was awestruck. A priest had purified his hands and feet, dressed him in a white kilt, then made him cleanse his mouth with natron. From the moment he set foot inside the fragrant and silent world of the temple, Kha had perceived the presence of a strange force, the “magic” that linked the elements of life and on which Pharaoh drew so that he might nurture his people.
Ramses, Volume IV Page 13
