Ramses, Volume IV
Page 23
“Have at them,” Uri-Teshoop ordered his soldiers.
As they stretched their bowstrings, Uri-Teshoop felt a surge of intense pleasure. The perfidious Hattusili, the arrogant Puduhepa, their bodies riddled with arrows, their corpses burnt . . . what prospect could be more delicious?
But no arrow split the air.
“Have at them!” Uri-Teshoop shouted furiously.
The bows turned on him.
Betrayed . . . finally emperor, and he was being betrayed! That was why Hattusili, his wife and daughter, stood there so calmly.
Muwattali’s brother came forward.
“You’re our prisoner, Uri-Teshoop. Surrender, and you’ll be allowed to stand trial.”
With a cry of rage, Uri-Teshoop reared on his horse. The archers recoiled in surprise. With the dash of a seasoned fighter, the son of the newly dead emperor broke through the circle and shot off toward the capital.
Arrows whizzed past his ears, but not one hit him.
FORTY-FOUR
Uri-Teshoop rode through the Lion Gate and galloped toward the palace, forcing his horse until its heart gave out. It collapsed at the top of the citadel from which the Emperor of Hatti would contemplate his kingdom.
The head of the imperial bodyguard came running.
“What’s going on, Your Majesty?”
“Where’s the Egyptian?”
“In his rooms.”
This time, Ahsha was not in the arms of some lovely young blonde, but draped in a heavy mantle, dagger at his side.
Uri-Teshoop unleashed his fury.
“A booby trap, that’s what it was! My own soldiers turned against me!”
“You’d better get away,” advised Ahsha.
The Egyptian’s words stunned Uri-Teshoop.
“What do you mean, get away? My army will raze that damned temple and massacre the rebels.”
“You have no more army.”
“No army?” Uri-Teshoop repeated dumbly. “What does that mean?”
“Your generals respect the omens and the gods’ revelations to Puduhepa. That’s why they’ve sworn allegiance to Hattusili. You still have your private bodyguard and one or two regiments that won’t be able to hold out long. Within hours, you’ll be trapped inside your own palace, awaiting Hattusili’s triumphant arrival.”
“It can’t be true, it’s not possible.”
“You have to face reality, Uri-Teshoop. Bit by bit, Hattusili has taken control of the empire.”
“I’ll fight to the finish!”
“That would be suicidal. There’s a better way.”
“Tell me!”
“You know all about the Hittite army, its fighting power, armament, organization, weak points . . .”
“Of course I do, but what—?”
“If you leave immediately, I think I can get you out of Hatti.”
“Where would I go?”
“To Egypt.”
Uri-Teshoop looked stricken. “You can’t be serious, Ahsha.”
“Where else would you be safe, beyond Hattusili’s reach? Of course, the right to asylum is negotiable. In exchange for your life, you’ll have to tell Ramses all you know about the Hittite army.”
“You’re asking me to become a traitor?”
“You be the judge.”
Uri-Teshoop felt like killing Ahsha. The Egyptian had clearly outmaneuvered him. But he was also offering the only real possibility of survival—without honor, naturally, but survival all the same—not to mention the chance to harm Hattusili by revealing military secrets.
“I accept.”
“It’s the reasonable course.”
“Will you be escorting me, Ahsha?”
“No, I’ll stay in Hattusa.”
“Isn’t that risky?”
“My mission isn’t finished. Have you forgotten about the peace agreement?”
As soon as the news of Uri-Teshoop’s flight was made public, his last few supporters rallied to Hattusili. The king’s brother was officially proclaimed the new emperor. His first duty as a ruler was to pay homage to Muwattali, whose corpse was burned on a gigantic pyre during a grandiose funeral ceremony, followed by a week of feasting.
At the banquet closing the rites of coronation, Ahsha occupied a place of honor at Emperor Hattusili’s left.
“Permit me, Imperial Highness, to wish you a long and peaceful reign.”
“No trace of Uri-Teshoop . . . you have eyes and ears everywhere, Ahsha. Don’t you have some idea where he’s gone?”
“None at all, Your Majesty. You’ve probably heard the last of him.”
“I’d be surprised. Uri-Teshoop is a resentful and obstinate man who’ll never stop seeking revenge.”
“Provided he has the means to do so.”
“A warrior of his mettle never gives up.”
“I don’t share your fears.”
“It’s curious, Ahsha . . . I have the feeling you know more than you’re telling.”
“It’s only a feeling, Your Majesty.”
“Couldn’t you have helped Uri-Teshoop leave the country?”
“The future certainly holds surprises, but I’m not responsible for them. My only mission is persuding you to enter into peace negotiations with Ramses.”
“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Ahsha. Suppose I change my mind and decide to wage war against Egypt?”
“You’re too aware of the international situation to deny the Assyrian threat and too concerned with your people’s welfare to risk it in a useless conflict.”
“Your analysis has merit, but why should I endorse your viewpoint? Truth is of little use in governing. War would have the advantage of stifling protest and uniting the country.”
“You wouldn’t care how many lives it cost?”
“That’s unavoidable.”
“Not if you concentrate on building peace.”
“I admire your determination, Ahsha.”
“I love life, Your Majesty. War destroys too many joys.”
“You must not be happy with the world as it is.”
“In Egypt we have our own unique goddess, Ma’at, who requires everyone, even Pharaoh, to respect the law of the universe and strive for justice on earth. It’s a world I can live in.”
“A pretty fable, Ahsha, but only a fable.”
“Make no mistake, Your Majesty; if you decide to attack Egypt, you’ll come up against Ma’at. And if you were to win, you’d be destroying a civilization with no equal.”
“What would it matter, if Hatti rules the world?”
“Impossible, Your Majesty. It’s already too late to stop Assyria from becoming a great power. Only an alliance with Egypt can safeguard your territory.”
“Unless I’m mistaken, Ahsha, you’re not my adviser, but a foreign ambassador. You’re bound to protect your own interests.”
“That’s only how it looks. Hatti may lack my country’s charms, but I’ve grown fond of it here. I have no wish to see your empire crumble.”
“Do you mean it?”
“I admit that a diplomat’s sincerity is always in question . . . but I beg you to believe me. Peace is our one true goal.”
“Will you swear it in the name of Ramses?”
“In an instant. When I speak, you hear his voice.”
“The two of you must be very close.”
“We are, Your Majesty.”
“Ramses is lucky, very lucky.”
“So all his enemies claim.”
Every day for the last five years Kha had spent at least an hour in the laboratory at the temple of Amon. He knew all the texts by heart now. Over the years, he had come to learn about astronomy, geometry, symbolism, and other sacred sciences, discovering realms of thought and traveling the pathways of knowledge.
Despite his young age, Kha would soon be initiated into the temple’s first mysteries. When Ramses’ court heard the news, there was general amazement. The king’s eldest son was clearly destined for the highest religious calling.
Then the young man was led to the threshold of the hall of columns where two priests, wearing the masks of Thoth the ibis and Horus the falcon, poured cool water over his head and shoulders. The two gods dressed him in a white kilt and led him to worship the divinities present on the columns.
Ten priests with shaved heads surrounded Kha. The young man had to answer a thousand questions on the hidden nature of the god Amon, the elements of creation contained in the egg of the world, the meaning of the major hieroglyphs, the content of offering rituals, and many subjects that only a well-versed scribe could discuss without error.
His examiners made no remarks or comments. Kha awaited their verdict at length in a silent chapel.
In the middle of the night, an aged priest took him by the hand and led him to the roof of the temple, inviting him to sit in contemplation of the starry sky, the body of the goddess Nut, who alone could transform death into life.
Raised to the rank of bearer of the law, Kha thought only of the glorious days he would soon be passing in the temple, learning the rituals. Thus preoccupied, he left behind his magical wristband and amulet.
FORTY-FIVE
At Abu Simbel, Setau had grown passionate about the work in progress, pouring all his energy into building a peerless monument to the royal couple. In Thebes, Bakhen was keeping the construction of Ramses’ Eternal Temple on track. As for Pi-Ramses, the Turquoise City, it seemed to increase in beauty day by day.
As soon as Pharaoh was back in Pi-Ramses, Ahmeni began camping in his office. Unable to rest at the thought that he might have committed some error, the king’s private secretary and sandal-bearer worked night and day. Nearly bald and somewhat thinner (despite his hearty appetite), the man who ran Egypt behind the scenes slept little, knew everything that went on without ever taking part in court activities, and stubbornly refused all official titles. Although he complained about his bad back and aching bones, Ahmeni personally carried the confidential documents relating to matters he wished to discuss with Ramses, regardless of how heavy the stacks of papyrus and wooden tablets were.
Equipped with the gilded writing kit the king had long ago given him, the scribe felt a true devotion to Ramses, with whom he shared an invisible but unbreakable bond. Who could help but admire the Son of Light, whose deeds already marked his reign as one of the most remarkable in the long history of the pharaohs? Ahmeni gave thanks every day for being born in the age of Ramses.
“Have you run into any serious problems, Ahmeni?” “Nothing insurmountable. Queen Mother Tuya helped a great deal. When certain members of your government balked, she intervened forcefully. Our Egypt is thriving, Your Majesty, but we must take care. A few days’ delay in routine canal maintenance, a lack of vigilance in the livestock tallies, failure to discipline ineffective scribes, and the whole structure could easily come apart.”
“What’s the latest from Ahsha?”
Ahmeni’s chest swelled. “I can state in all confidence that our old school friend is a true genius.”
“When is he coming back from Hatti?”
“For the moment, he’s staying in the Hittite capital.”
Ramses was astonished. “His mission was supposed to end when Hattusili took the throne.”
“He’s been forced to extend it, but meanwhile he’s pulled off something amazing.”
Ahmeni’s high spirits told Ramses that he was in for a surprise. Ahsha must have executed their entire plan, despite insurmountable odds.
“Would Your Majesty allow me to introduce a distinguished guest?”
Ramses gestured toward the door in agreement. A triumph of Ahsha’s would have to be spectacular.
Serramanna entered, pushing a tall, well-built man before him, a man with long hair and a reddish fleece on his chest. Offended by the Sard’s brusqueness, Uri-Teshoop turned around and shook a fist at him.
“That’s no way to treat the rightful Emperor of Hatti!”
“What about raising your voice to the Pharaoh?” inquired Ramses.
Uri-Teshoop tried to hold Ramses’ gaze, but broke off after only a few seconds. The Hittite warrior was feeling the cruel weight of defeat. Appearing before Ramses this way, like a common fugitive . . . Ramses, whose strength both fascinated and subdued him.
“I request political asylum, Your Majesty, and I know the price. I’ll answer all your questions about the strengths and weaknesses of the Hittite army.”
“Then let’s get started,” said Ramses.
With the fire of humiliation coursing through his veins, Uri-Teshoop obeyed.
The palace orchard was flourishing with juniper, pomegranate, fig, and frankincense trees, each more beautiful than the next. Iset the Fair loved to stroll here with her son Merenptah. The nine-year-old’s robust constitution surprised his teachers. Ramses’ younger son liked playing with Watcher, and the yellow-gold dog, despite his advancing years, indulged the child’s whims. Together they chased butterflies, then Watcher slowly stretched out and settled down to a restorative nap. The dog’s companion, the Nubian lion Fighter, let Merenptah pet him, diffidently at first, then with confidence.
Iset felt a pang of nostalgia for the already distant days when Kha, Meritamon, and Merenptah were all carefree children playing in this orchard and the adjoining gardens. Today Kha was a temple novice and the lovely Meritamon (who had already received proposals from several influential men) was studying sacred music. Iset the Fair recalled the serious little boy with his writing materials, the beautiful little girl dragging the harp that was too big for her. All that was yesterday, a happiness now beyond reach.
How many times had Iset met with Dolora, how many hours had they spent discussing Nefertari, her ambition, her hypocrisy? The thought made her head spin. Worn down by Dolora’s insistence, she had finally resolved to act.
On a low sycamore table painted with blue lotuses, Iset had set two cups full of carob juice. The one she’d hand to Nefertari contained a slow-acting poison. In four or five weeks, when the Great Royal Wife finally died, no one would think of pointing a finger at Iset the Fair. Dolora had provided the invisible weapon, insisting that divine justice would be solely responsible for Nefertari’s death.
Shortly before sunset, the queen appeared in the orchard. She removed her headdress, kissing Merenptah and Iset.
“An exhausting day,” she confided.
“Have you seen the king, Your Majesty?”
“Unfortunately not. Ahmeni is keeping him tied up, and I have a thousand and one matters to attend to myself.”
“Don’t you get tired of public life and all your official duties?”
“More than you could imagine, Iset. How happy I was in Nubia! Ramses and I were together constantly, each second was a joy.”
“I thought . . .”
Iset’s voice wavered; Nefertari was intrigued. “Are you feeling all right?” she inquired.
“Fine, it’s just that . . .”
Iset the Fair could no longer control herself. She asked the question that burned on her lips, in her heart.
“Your Majesty, do you really love Ramses?”
Consternation flickered momentarily on Nefertari’s face. Then a radiant smile dispelled it.
“How could you doubt it?”
“At court they’ve been saying . . .”
“At court gossip is the only sport. No one knows who ‘they’ are, but ‘they’ never find anything good to say. I’m sure this isn’t news to you, though.”
“Of course not, but . . .”
“But I come from a modest background and I married Ramses the Great. That’s bound to fee
d the rumor mill.”
Nefertari looked Iset straight in the eye.
“I’ve loved Ramses from the first moment we met, though I didn’t dare admit it to myself. My love for him only grew stronger until we married. It’s kept growing ever since, and it will outlive us.”
“But didn’t you make him build a temple to you at Abu Simbel?”
“No, Iset. Pharaoh was the one who wanted to commemorate our union. Who but him would conceive of something so grandiose?”
Iset the Fair stood up and walked to the table where the two goblets waited.
“Loving Ramses is a great privilege,” continued Nefertari. “I’m all for him, and he’s everything to me.”
Iset nudged the table with her knee, upsetting the two cups and spilling their contents onto the grass.
“Excuse me, Majesty. Your words are so moving. Please forget I ever said anything.”
Emperor Hattusili had stripped the palace audience chamber of its war trophies. The cold gray stone, too stark for his taste, would be covered with gaily colored wall hangings in geometric patterns.
Draped in an ample length of striped fabric, a silver cuff at his left elbow and his hair tied back with a headband, Hattusili wore a woolen cap that had belonged to his late brother. Thrifty, little concerned with his appearance, he planned to manage the imperial finances with a rigor hitherto unknown in Hatti.
The principal representatives of the merchant class filed through the audience chamber, helping the emperor define the country’s economic priorities. Empress Puduhepa, heading the religious contingent, also participated in the discussions and lobbied for a large reduction in credits for the army. Despite their newfound status, the merchants found this shocking. Hatti was, after all, at war with Egypt.
Using his tried and true method, Hattusili held one-on-one talks with traders as well as commanding officers, briefing them on the need for a prolonged truce, while never pronouncing the word peace. Puduhepa deployed the same strategy in religious circles. The Egyptian ambassador Ahsha was living proof of the improved relations between the two powerful adversaries. Since Egypt now refrained from attacking Hatti, shouldn’t they take their own initiatives toward halting the conflict?