Ramses, Volume IV

by Christian Jacq

  The king and queen swept through the main courtyard. Awestruck, the stoneworkers laid down their mallets and chisels to watch them.

  After conferring with their foremen, Ramses quizzed each of the men about the problems encountered. The king had not forgotten the thrilling weeks he spent in Gebel el-Silsila as an adolescent; he had once even hoped to make a career of stonework. To these men he promised a special bonus: wine and top-quality clothing.

  The royal couple continued on their way to Seti’s memorial chapel. Suddenly Nefertari froze, clutching at her heart.

  “Danger . . . it’s very near.”

  “Here, in this temple?” Ramses asked in amazement.

  The moment passed. Then the king and queen approached the chapel where prayers for Seti’s soul would be offered for all eternity.

  “Don’t touch the door, Ramses. The danger is there, behind it. Let me open it.”

  Nefertari nudged the gilded wooden door.

  On the threshold lay a carnelian eye, smashed into several fragments. By Seti’s statue at the back of the chapel was a red ball made from the hair of desert animals.

  Invested with the power of Isis, the great magician-goddess, the queen put the eye back together. If the king’s foot had touched the shattered and desecrated object, he would have been instantly paralyzed. Then Nefertari bundled the red ball in the hem of her dress, not letting it touch her fingers, and carried it outside where it could be burned.

  The evil eye, the couple agreed. That was what some dark villain had dared to use in an attempt to sever the link between Seti and Ramses, reducing the Lord of the Two Lands to a simple despot, without benefit of his predecessor’s supernatural counsel.

  Who but Shaanar, thought Ramses, could be so depraved? Who but Shaanar and his sorcerer accomplice? Who else would be so determined to destroy what his own grudging heart could never hold?

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Moses hesitated.

  He had to accomplish his mission from Yahweh, but now he was stymied. There was no way around the fact that Ramses would never capitulate. Moses knew the King of Egypt well enough to realize that when he said he considered the Hebrews an integral part of his country’s society, he meant it. And he would act on it.

  Yet the concept of an exodus was gaining ground; day by day, resistance to the prophet’s cause weakened. Many thought that Moses’ special relationship with Ramses would make it easier to win his approval. One by one, the tribal chieftains had come around. The last time the elders met, there was no opposition when Aaron presented Moses as the leader of the Hebrew people, united in faith and purpose.

  Now that the rifts were healed, the prophet had only one more enemy to overcome: Ramses the Great.

  Aaron interrupted Moses’ meditation.

  “A brickmaker is asking to see you.”

  “Take care of him, will you?”

  “He won’t talk to anyone but you.”

  “What about?”

  “Promises he says you made him in the past. He has faith in you.”

  “Show him in.”

  With a white band securing the short black wig that covered the forehead but left the ears exposed, Moses’ caller had a deep tan, a short beard, and a ragged mustache. He looked more or less like any other Hebrew brickmaker.

  Yet something about him set off an alarm. Moses had seen this man before.

  “What do you want from me?”

  “We used to share the same ideals.”

  “Ofir!”

  “Yes, Moses, it’s me.”

  “You’ve changed.”

  “I’m a wanted man.”

  “With good reason, I’ve heard. Is it true you’re a Hittite spy?”

  “I won’t deny I worked for the Hittites, but my network has been destroyed and they no longer pose such a threat to Egypt.”

  “Then you lied to me. You were only using me to get at Ramses!”

  “No, Moses. We both believe in a single all-powerful God. Now that I’ve worked with the Hebrews, I’m convinced it can only be Yahweh.”

  “You fooled me once. Why should I believe you this time?”

  “Even if you doubt my sincerity, I’ll serve your cause. It’s the only one worthy of being served. I seek no personal reward, mind you—only salvation.”

  Moses was confused. “Have you renounced your belief in Aton?”

  “I realize now that Aton was only a glimpse of the True God. Now that I’ve seen the light, I’ve put the past behind me.”

  “What happened to that young woman you were hoping to bring to power?”

  “She was brutally murdered, and I was deeply upset by it. The Egyptian police accused me of a horrible crime I didn’t commit. I took the tragedy as a sign. Today you’re the only man who can stand up to Ramses. That’s why I’ll support you for all I’m worth.”

  “What do you want, Ofir?”

  “To help you spread the belief in Yahweh, nothing more.”

  “Do you know that Yahweh intends my people to make an exodus?”

  “It’s a grandiose vision, and I approve. If it entails the fall of Ramses and the arrival of the true faith in Egypt, I’ll be overjoyed.”

  “But once you’re a spy, aren’t you always a spy?”

  “I no longer have any contact with the Hittites, and they’re in the throes of a power struggle. That part of my life is over. You represent the future, Moses; you’re my hope.”

  “How do you think you can help me?”

  “Fighting Ramses won’t be easy. My experience with the occult could be useful.”

  “My people simply want to leave Egypt, not rebel against Ramses.”

  “What’s the difference, Moses? You’re challenging Ramses, however you look at it. He’ll reply in kind.”

  In his heart of hearts, the Hebrew had to admit that Ofir spoke the truth.

  “I need time to think.”

  “I leave it up to you, Moses. But let me offer one bit of advice. Don’t try anything while Ramses is gone on his journey. You may be able to negotiate with him, but his lackeys, Ahmeni and Serramanna—not to mention his mother—will prove much less indulgent toward your people. To maintain public order, they’ll call for a bloody repression. Let’s make use of the royal couple’s absence to solidify our cause, convince the fainthearted, and gird ourselves for the inevitable conflict.”

  Ofir’s determination impressed Moses. While not convinced he should enlist the sorcerer, there was no denying the soundness of his advice.

  The Theban chief of police insisted that his men had spared no effort in tracking Shaanar and his potential accomplices. Ramses had given them a description of the assailant who had fired arrows at him during their skirmish on the river, but so far the investigation had been fruitless.

  “He’s left Thebes,” asserted Nefertari.

  “You think he’s alive, as I do.”

  “I sense a dangerous presence, a dark force . . . is it Shaanar, is it the sorcerer, or even one of their henchmen?”

  “It’s Shaanar,” Ramses said flatly. “He tried to sever the link between me and Seti, depriving me of my father’s protection.”

  “The evil eye he left will have no effect. The fire eliminated its magic. With a special resin glue, we were able to repair the carnelian eye they stole from the temple of Set in Pi-Ramses.”

  “He used the hair of desert animals to make the red eye. Those animals are creatures of Set. Shaanar was trying to turn Set’s terrible energy against me.”

  “He misjudged your connection to Set.”

  “Even so, I’ll never stop watching my back. The moment you look the other way, Set’s fire can turn against you.”

  “When are we heading south?”

  “As soon as we’ve had a look at our death.”

  The royal pair drove out toward the southern edge of the hills around Thebes, to the vale called the “Place of Rebirth” or “Place of Lotuses.” This Valley of the Queens would be the final resting place of Tuya, Ramses’
mother, and Nefertari, the Great Royal Wife. Their tombs had been dug in the shelter of the peak, the home of the goddess of silence. Over this parched landscape reigned Hathor, the smiling sky goddess, who made the stars shine, made glad the hearts of her faithful.

  And Hathor was the goddess Nefertari found on the walls of her tomb, infusing the Great Royal Wife with the energy of resurrection. In these paintings the queen was forever young, wearing a golden vulture headdress in her role as divine mother. The artists had managed to capture Nefertari, the “sweet of love,” in tableaux of incredible perfection.

  “Does this dwelling suit you, Nefertari?”

  “So many splendors . . . I don’t deserve it.”

  “It’s one of a kind, like you. Your love is the breath of life, and you shall reign forever in the hearts of both gods and men.”

  Here were green-faced Osiris, dressed in white; Ra the radiant, crowned with an enormous golden orb; Khepri, the scarab-headed god of metamorphosis; and Ma’at, the universal law, a dainty young woman whose only emblem was an ostrich feather, light as the truth. The divine powers were gathered here to regenerate Nefertari throughout time and beyond time. Soon, on the columns still standing blank, a scribe from the House of Life would record the “Book of Coming Forth by Day” and the “Book of Doors,” whose sacred formulas would serve as the queen’s guide through the next world.

  Here was no death—only mystery, smiling.

  Nefertari spent several days becoming acquainted with the gods that would be her companions for eternity. She grew comfortable with next stage of her existence as she plumbed the silence of her tomb. Deep in the earth, it felt like heaven.

  When Nefertari felt ready to leave the “Place of Lotuses,” Ramses took her to the “Great Place,” the Valley of the Kings, where pharaohs had been laid to rest since the beginning of the Eighteenth Dynasty. The king and queen spent hours in the tombs of Ramses’ grandfather and namesake, as well as that of Seti. Each painting was a masterpiece. Column by column, Nefertari read the “Book of the Hidden Chamber,” revealing how the dying sun comes back to life, the model for Pharaoh’s resurrection.

  Moved beyond words, she explored Ramses the Great’s eternal dwelling. The painters were still mixing finely ground pigments in small pots, bringing the walls to life with symbolic scenes that would preserve the monarch beyond the grave. With the addition of water and acacia gum, the colored powders allowed for extraordinary precision.

  The golden chamber with its eight pillars was near completion. Here the sarcophagus would lie. Death could call for Ramses at any time; he was prepared.

  The king conferred with the architect.

  “I want a corridor,” he ordered, “like the ones you see in some of my ancestors’ tombs. Cut through the rock and leave the walls rough. It will speak of the ultimate secret, which no human spirit can penetrate.”

  Nefertari and Ramses felt they had crossed a threshold. Awareness of their death was now an integral component of their love—death as awakening, not as doom.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Serramanna was playing a waiting game.

  Meba had left his house more than an hour earlier to attend a banquet given by Queen Mother Tuya. She carefully fostered good feelings among the court while the king and queen were off on their journey. In regular contact with Ramses by courier, Tuya was satisfied with Ahmeni’s meticulous work and Serramanna’s iron discipline. Both helped keep things on an even keel. Even the Hebrew troubles seemed to be calming down.

  Yet the former pirate trusted his instincts, and they told him that this was only the calm before the storm. So far Moses had done nothing more than meet with the Hebrew leadership, but he had emerged as their uncontested chief. Furthermore, Egyptian officials, knowing how loyal the Pharaoh was to his friends, tended to look indulgently on Moses. Sooner or later, they thought, he’d come back into the government fold, leaving his troublesome notions behind.

  Serramanna worried about Moses in the abstract, and Meba in the concrete. The Sard was sure the old diplomat was the one who’d pinched Kha’s paintbrush, but what was his motive? The former pirate hated diplomats in general and Meba in particular. He was too slick, too accommodating—a born liar, in Serramanna’s book.

  What if Kha’s brush was hidden somewhere in Meba’s house? Serramanna could hold him on suspicion of theft, and the aristocrat would be forced to explain himself in court.

  Meba’s gardener was heading off to bed. The rest of the domestics were snug in their quarters. The Sard scaled the rear of the house and climbed to the balcony. On cat’s feet, he opened the trapdoor leading to the attic. From there he had easy access to the living quarters.

  Good. He had time for a thorough search.

  “Nothing,” declared the Sard, unkempt and fuming.

  “The search was illegal anyway,” Ahmeni reminded him.

  “If I’d found the evidence, I could have put Meba out of commission.”

  “Why target him?”

  “Because he’s dangerous.”

  “Meba, dangerous? He’s completely invested in his career. That keeps him out of trouble.”

  The Sard was gobbling down dried fish dipped in a spicy sauce.

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said with his mouth full, “but I have a hunch that he’s up to no good. I feel like putting him under surveillance. He’s bound to slip up before long.”

  “All right . . . but watch your step!”

  “Moses ought to be under surveillance, too.”

  “But he’s Ramses’ old school friend, and mine as well.”

  “The Hebrew is a flagrant agitator! You’re Pharaoh’s servant, and Moses will revolt against Ramses.”

  “He won’t go that far.”

  “Don’t bet on it. I used to see his type in my pirate crews. A troublemaker, I tell you—but you and Pharaoh won’t listen.”

  “We know Moses. That’s why we don’t take such a dim view of him.”

  “One day you’ll be sorry you wouldn’t face facts.”

  “Go get some rest and be careful not to offend the Hebrews. Our role is to maintain order, not fan the flames of revolt.”

  Ahsha was housed in the citadel, offered simple but wholesome food, mediocre wine, and the professional attentions of a pretty blonde recommended by the thoughtful chamberlain. Utterly shameless, she was eager to learn for herself whether Egyptians deserved their reputation as great lovers. Ahsha was a willing subject, active or passive according to her whims, but ready for anything.

  Was there any better way to pass the time? Uri-Teshoop was stunned by Ahsha’s sudden appearance, yet flattered to be playing host to Pharaoh’s secretary of state. This must mean that Ramses already recognized Muwattali’s son as the future emperor of Hatti.

  Uri-Teshoop burst into Ahsha’s room, interrupting a flurry of kisses from his blond companion.

  “I’ll come back later,” said the prince.

  “No, stay,” Ahsha countered. “The young lady certainly understands that business comes before pleasure.”

  The stunning Hittite courtesan took her leave. Ahsha threw on a well-cut tunic.

  “How is the emperor doing?” he asked Uri-Teshoop.

  “His condition is stable.”

  “I’m repeating my offer: please let me treat him.”

  “Why come to the aid of your own worst enemy?”

  “It’s a delicate question.”

  “I need an answer, and right away,” Uri-Teshoop said curtly.

  “Diplomats aren’t in the habit of giving away all their secrets. Can’t we just say it’s a humanitarian mission and leave it at that?”

  “No.”

  Ahsha frowned. “Well . . . Ramses has come to regard Muwattali with respect, even a certain admiration. His illness is a cause for concern.”

  “Don’t make me laugh.”

  “I surmise,” Ahsha said cautiously, “that you wouldn’t care to be accused of murdering your own father.”

  Despite his risin
g anger, Uri-Teshoop did not protest. Ahsha pressed his advantage.

  “Everything that goes on in Hattusa involves us. We know that the army wants the transfer of power to go smoothly, with the emperor designating his own successor. That’s why I want to help him recover his health, using the resources of Egyptian medicine.”

  Uri-Teshoop could never subscribe to the demand. If Muwattali regained the power of speech, he’d have his son thrown in prison and hand the empire over to Hattusili.

  “How is it that you’re so well informed on the subject?” he asked Ahsha.

  “I’m not at liberty . . .”

  “Answer me.”

  “Sorry, I simply can’t say.”

  “This isn’t Egypt, Ahsha. You’re on my home turf.”

  “As an ambassador on an official mission, what have I to fear?”

  “I’m a soldier, not a diplomat. And we’re at war.”

  “Shall I take that as a threat?”

  “I’m not a patient man, Ahsha. You’d better talk.”

  “I suppose you’d try torture.”

  “I wouldn’t hesitate.”

  Trembling, Ahsha wrapped himself in a woolen blanket.

  “If I talk, will you spare me?”

  “We’ll remain good friends.”

  Ahsha lowered his gaze. “I have to confess that my real mission was to propose a truce to the emperor.”

  “How long a truce?” Uri-Teshoop asked in amazement.

  “As long as possible.”

  Uri-Teshoop could hardly contain himself. So Pharaoh’s army really was on its knees! As soon as the confounded omens allowed it, the new master of Hatti would rush to attack the Delta.

  “And then . . .” Ahsha said haltingly.

  “What, then?”

  “We know that the emperor has had a hard time deciding whether to name you or Hattusili as his successor.”

  “Who tells you these things?”

  “Would you grant us this truce if you had the power?”

  Why not rely on deception? thought Uri-Teshoop. It was what his father had always done.