Ramses, Volume IV

by Christian Jacq

  Setau showed the young prince around the laboratory attached to the temple of Amon. The walls were covered with inscriptions revealing the secret formulas for unguents used in religious ceremonies and ingredients that preserved the sacred eye of Horus, keeping its light alive in the world.

  Kha read the texts avidly, memorizing as many of the hieroglyphs as he could. He would have liked to spend time in each of the temples they visited, studying the inscriptions in detail. These life-bearing symbols were what transmitted the wisdom of the ages.

  “This is where true magic is revealed,” Setau told the boy. “It’s the weapon God has given man to ward off evil and triumph over fate.”

  “But how can we change our destiny?”

  “We can’t, but if we become fully aware of it, we can rise above it. If you can bring magic into your everyday life, you’ll be in touch with the force that tells you the secrets of heaven and earth, of day and night, of the mountains and rivers. You’ll understand the language of birds and fish, you’ll wake at dawn with the sun at your side, and you’ll see divine power skimming the waters.”

  “Will you teach me how?”

  “Perhaps, if you try hard, if you fight hard against vanity and laziness.”

  “I’ll fight with all my might!”

  “Your father and I are heading for the Deep South. We’ll be gone for several months.”

  Kha’s face fell. “I wish you could stay and teach me magic.”

  “Turn your disappointment into an opportunity. You’re to come here each day and immerse yourself in the sacred symbols that live on in stone. That way you’ll be protected from any outside attack. For additional security, I’m going to equip you with an amulet and a protective inscription.”

  Setau lifted the lid of a gilded wooden box and produced an amulet in the shape of a papyrus plant, which symbolized vigor and growth. He hung it on a cord and looped it around Kha’s neck. Then he unrolled a slim strip of cloth and with fresh ink drew an eye, healthy and intact. As soon as the ink was dry, he twisted the strip around the boy’s left wrist.

  “Take care with both of these things,” he advised solemnly. “They’ll prevent negative influences from getting into your blood. The magnetizing priests have imbued them with fluid that will build up your immunity.”

  “Are snakes the ones who hold the secret formulas?”

  “They know more than we do about life and death, the two sides of reality. Understanding their message is the basis of all knowledge.”

  “I’d like to be your apprentice and make medicines with you.”

  “You’re meant to be a ruler, not a healer.”

  “I don’t want to be king! What I like is hieroglyphs and secret lore. A pharaoh has to meet with a lot of people and solve all kinds of problems. I prefer peace and quiet.”

  “Life doesn’t always turn out the way we want it to.”

  “It should, when we have magic!”

  Moses was lunching with Aaron and two tribal chiefs intrigued by the idea of an exodus.

  A knock came at the door. When Aaron opened it, Serramanna came barging in.

  “Is Moses here?”

  The two tribal chiefs moved to shield the prophet.

  “Come with me, Moses.”

  “Where are you taking him?”

  “That doesn’t concern you. Don’t make me use force.”

  Moses stepped forward. “I’m coming, Serramanna.”

  The Sard had the Hebrew get in his chariot. Escorted by two other police vehicles, they drove briskly to the edge of town, through the fields, and out toward the desert.

  Serramanna pulled up at the foot of a little rise that overlooked a stretch of sand and gravel.

  “Go up to the top, Moses,” he ordered. It was an easy climb. Seated on a windblown boulder, Ramses was waiting.

  “I like the desert as much as you do, Moses. Don’t you remember our adventures in the Sinai?”

  The prophet sat down next to the Pharaoh and they looked off in the same direction.

  “What god is this haunting you, Moses?”

  “The One God, the T rue God.”

  “Your Egyptian education should have opened your mind to the multiple facets of the divine.”

  “Don’t try to take me back to the past. My people have a future, but only outside of Egypt. Let the Hebrews go into the desert, three days’ distance, where we can make sacrifices to Yahweh.”

  “You know quite well that it’s out of the question. Such an excursion would require significant military protection. In the current circumstances, we can’t rule out the possibility of a Bedouin raid. An unarmed population could sustain a great number of casualties.”

  “Yahweh will protect us.”

  “The Hebrews are my subjects, Moses. I’m responsible for their safety.”

  “Subjects? We’re your prisoners.”

  “The Hebrews are free to come and go as they please, in and out of Egypt, providing they obey the law. Your demand is unrealistic in time of war. Furthermore, many of your people would refuse to follow.”

  “I’ll guide my people to the Promised Land.”

  “And where is that?”

  “Yahweh will reveal it to us.”

  “Are the Hebrews unhappy in Egypt?”

  “That doesn’t matter. All that counts is the will of God.”

  “Why are you so inflexible? In Pi-Ramses, we have places of worship where foreign gods are welcome. The Hebrews can live their faith as they wish.”

  “That isn’t enough for us. Yahweh can no longer suffer the presence of false gods.”

  “Aren’t you missing the point, Moses? Through the ages our country has honored the divine as a single principle with multiple manifestations. When Akhenaton tried to make Aton supersede all other forms of the sacred, he was in error.”

  “His doctrine is being revived, in a purified form.”

  “Belief in a unique and exclusive god would prevent religious exchanges with neighboring countries and tarnish the hope of peace among people on earth.”

  “Yahweh is the protector and refuge of the just.”

  “Are you forgetting Amon? He banishes evil, hears the prayers of all loving hearts, hastens to help those in need. Amon is the healer who gives the blind man back his sight. Nothing escapes him, for he is both one and many.”

  “The Hebrews worship Yahweh, not Amon, and Yahweh alone will guide their destiny.”

  “A rigid doctrine leads to death, Moses.”

  “My decision is made and I’ll hold firm. It’s the will of God.”

  “Isn’t it vain to believe you’re His chosen one?”

  “Your opinion means nothing to me.”

  “Then nothing remains of our friendship?”

  “The Hebrews have chosen me as their leader. You, Ramses, are the head of the country holding us prisoner. My mission must take precedence over our friendship and my respect for you.”

  “If you persist, you’ll be flouting the law of Ma’at.”

  “What do I care?”

  “Do you think you’re above the guiding principle of the universe, which existed before humanity and will live long after our own extinction?”

  “The only law the Hebrews respect is the law of Yahweh. Will you grant us your permission to go in the desert and sacrifice in His name?”

  “No, Moses; as long as we’re at war with the Hittites, it would be against the national interest. Nothing must compromise our defenses.”

  “If you continue to refuse, Yaweh will guide my arm to make me work wonders that will be the despair of your country.”

  Ramses stood up.

  “You seem to have all the answers, my friend. Add this to your list: I’ll never cave in to threats.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The caravan was trudging through a wasteland. The Egyptian delegation, composed of thirty men on horseback, scribes and military men, and a hundred donkeys laden with gifts, progressed between cliff walls carved with giant figures of
Hittite warriors marching southward, toward Egypt. Ahsha deciphered the inscription: The Storm God traces the warriors’ route and leads them to victory.

  The head of Egyptian diplomacy had already been forced to lecture his little troop several times. Their harsh and unfamiliar surroundings made the men jittery—the massifs and mountain passes, the unknown forces lurking in the forests. Although not particularly at ease himself, Ahsha pressed on, relieved not to encounter any of the marauders that roamed the region.

  The delegation exited the canyon, hugged a river, passed more boulders carved with menacing soldiers, then emerged onto a windswept plain. In the distance was a promontory topped with a fortress, the empire’s enormous and menacing border post.

  The donkeys balked; their driver tried every trick he knew to keep them moving toward the sinister fortress.

  In the battlements, archers prepared to fire.

  Ahsha ordered his men to dismount and lay their arms on the ground.

  Brandishing a boldly striped standard, the herald took a few steps toward the entry to the stronghold.

  An arrow shattered the flagstaff. A second whizzed to the ground at his feet. A third grazed his shoulder. Wincing in pain, he retreated.

  The Egyptian soldiers grabbed their weapons.

  “No,” cried Ahsha, “put them down!”

  “We’re not going to let them slaughter us!” an officer protested.

  “This behavior is unusual. The Hittites would never be so easily provoked, so much on the defensive, unless something was seriously wrong within the country. But what? I won’t know until I talk with the commander of the fortress.”

  “After a welcome like this, you can’t be thinking . . .”

  “Take ten men and ride hard to our fallback position. The provincial troops should be put on high alert, as if a Hittite attack were imminent. Send couriers to inform Pharaoh of the situation so that our northeastern defensive line is combat-ready. As soon as possible, I’ll fill in the details for him.”

  Thankful to be dispatched toward less hostile territory, the officer acted immediately on his orders. He selected his escort, packed up the wounded herald, and led the squadron off at a gallop.

  The men remaining with Ahsha felt their hearts sink. Yet their chief calmly took a sheet of papyrus and wrote a note in Hittite, giving his name and titles. After he attached the document to an arrowhead, an archer sent it flying to the door of the fortress.

  “Now we’ll see,” he told the delegation. “Either they’ll talk or they’ll come after us.”

  “But we’re official envoys of the Egyptian government!”

  “If the Hittites are exterminating diplomats who’ve come to open talks, that will tell us that the war has entered a new phase. A crucial piece of intelligence, wouldn’t you say?”

  The scribe gulped. “Couldn’t we just retreat?”

  “It would be unworthy. We represent His Majesty’s government.”

  Unconvinced by this lofty argument, the scribe and his colleagues quaked with fear.

  The gates to the fortress parted, giving passage to three Hittite horsemen.

  A helmeted officer wearing thick armor snatched up the message and read it. Then he ordered his men to surround the Egyptians.

  “Follow us,” he commanded.

  The interior of the fortress was just as grim as the exterior. Cold stone, chilly halls, an armory, bunk rooms, foot soldiers drilling . . . Ahsha felt claustrophobic, but spoke reassuringly to his group, aware that they already felt like prisoners.

  After a brief wait, the helmeted officer reappeared.

  “Which one of you is the ambassador Ahsha?”

  He stepped forward.

  “The commander wishes to see you.”

  Ahsha was shown into a square room with a fireplace for heat. Near the hearth stood a short, slight man draped in a thick woolen mantle.

  “Welcome to Hatti. I was hoping we’d meet again, Ahsha.”

  “May I say that I’m surprised to find you here, Hattusili?”

  “And may I ask why Pharaoh’s sending such a high-ranking emissary?”

  “Bearing gifts for the emperor.”

  “Rather unconventional, considering we’re at war.”

  “Must the conflict between our two countries be everlasting?”

  Hattusili’s face registered shock. “What are you suggesting?”

  “That I’d like to meet with the emperor to tell him Ramses’ intentions.”

  Hattusili warmed his hands.

  “It will be difficult . . . very difficult.”

  “Do you mean impossible?”

  “Go back to Egypt, Ahsha . . . No, I can’t let you go . . .”

  In light of his host’s confusion, Ahsha decided to spring the news on him.

  “I’ve come to make a peace proposal to Muwattali.”

  Hattusili wheeled around. “Is this a trap? Or some kind of joke?”

  “Pharaoh is convinced that it’s the best option for Egypt as well as Hatti.”

  “Ramses wants peace? I can’t believe it!”

  “It’s my job to convince you otherwise and conduct the negotiations.”

  “Give up, Ahsha.”

  “Why?”

  Hattusili sized up the diplomat. Was he sincere? But at this point, what was there to lose by telling him the truth?

  “The emperor has been taken ill. He can no longer speak or move, and he’s unable to govern.”

  “Who’s running the government, then?”

  “His son, Uri-Teshoop, supreme commander of the armed forces.”

  “He didn’t leave you in charge?”

  “Only of the economic sector and the foreign service.”

  “Then you’re the man that I’ve come to see.”

  “I’m nobody, Ahsha. My own brother slammed the door in my face. As soon as I learned Muwattali had been stricken, I took refuge here; the garrison commander is a friend.”

  “Will Uri-Teshoop proclaim himself emperor?”

  “As soon as Muwattali dies.”

  “Why give up so easily, Hattusili?”

  “I have nothing left to fight with.”

  “Is the whole army under Uri-Teshoop’s sway?”

  “Some of the officers fear his hard-line tendencies, but they’d never dare speak out.”

  “I’m ready to go to your capital and lay out my peace proposal.”

  “Peace? Uri-Teshoop doesn’t know the meaning of the word. It will never work.”

  “Where is your lovely wife, by the way?”

  “Puduhepa stayed on in the capital.”

  “Was that wise?”

  Hattusili again turned toward the hearth.

  “Puduhepa has a plan to check Uri-Teshoop’s rise.”

  The proud and noble Puduhepa had been meditating in the temple of Ishtar for three days. When the soothsayer deposited the carcass of a freshly killed vulture on one of the altars, she knew her time had come.

  Draped in a long garnet robe, a silver diadem in her hair, Puduhepa clutched the handle of the dagger she would sink into Uri-Teshoop’s back when he bent to look at the vulture’s entrails, as the soothsayer would certainly suggest.

  The handsome priestess had dreamed of a peace that could never be, a balance of power within Hatti and a truce with Egypt; but Uri-Teshoop’s very existence reduced such aims to nothingness.

  She alone could prevent this demon from wreaking havoc. She alone could help transfer power to her husband, Hattusili, who would set the empire to rights again.

  Uri-Teshoop entered the sanctuary. Puduhepa was hidden behind a massive column near the altar.

  The emperor’s son had not come alone, she noted with annoyance. Puduhepa knew that she should give up and slip out of the temple unseen. But when would another such opportunity come her way? Uri-Teshoop’s security would only grow tighter. If she moved swiftly enough, she could dispatch her husband’s rival, most likely falling prey herself to his bodyguards.

  Shir
king this sacrifice would be dastardly. She must think about her country’s future, not her own existence.

  The soothsayer slashed the vulture’s belly. A terrible stench filled the air. Plunging his hands into the entrails, he spread them out on the altar.

  Uri-Teshoop approached, leaving a gap between himself and his bodyguards. Puduhepa gripped the dagger handle even tighter and prepared to strike. She must pounce like a wildcat, concentrating all her energy in one deadly blow.

  A sudden cry from the soothsayer stopped her in her tracks. Uri-Teshoop backed away.

  “Your Highness, it’s horrible!”

  “What do you see in these entrails?”

  “You must defer all your plans. At this time the outlook is unfavorable.”

  Uri-Teshoop’s impulse was to slit the priest’s throat. Even if he did, the members of his entourage who were present would broadcast the news of the unfavorable reading. In Hatti, no one ignored a soothsayer’s predictions.

  “How long must I wait?”

  “Until the omens change, Your Highness.”

  His blood rising, Uri-Teshoop stormed out of the temple.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Egyptian court was rife with conflicting rumors about the royal couple’s departure for the south. Some claimed it was imminent, others that it had been postponed indefinitely, given the unstable situation in the protectorates. Some even thought that the king, despite having sent his royal sons to head the regiments, would be forced to march off to war again.

  Light flooded Ramses’ office as he stood in prayer before his father’s statue. On the broad table sat dispatches from Canaan and southern Syria. Watcher, the yellow-gold dog, slept curled in his master’s armchair.

  Ahmeni burst into the office. “A message from Ahsha!”

  “Can you authenticate it?”

  “The handwriting is his, and he inserted my name in code.”