Ramses, Volume IV

by Christian Jacq

  But then a thunderbolt struck, destroying this castle in the air. Hattusili at once summoned Ahsha.

  “I must inform you of a recent decision I wish you to communicate to Ramses.”

  “A peace proposal, Your Majesty?”

  “No, Ahsha. Confirmation of our intent to pursue the hostilities.”

  The ambassador slumped. “Why this sudden reversal?”

  “I’ve just learned that Uri-Teshoop has requested and been granted political asylum in Egypt.”

  “Why should that affect our agreement?”

  “Because it was you, Ahsha, who helped him get out of Hatti and seek refuge in your country.”

  “Be that as it may . . .”

  “I want Uri-Teshoop’s head. The traitor must be tried and executed. No peace negotiation can proceed until my brother’s murderer is returned to Hatti.”

  “Since he’s in exile in Pi-Ramses, what have you to fear from him?”

  “I want to see his body burned at the stake, here, in my capital.”

  “It’s quite unlikely that Ramses would go back on his word and extradite a man to whom he’s granted his protection.”

  “Leave immediately for Pi-Ramses, convince your king, and bring me back Uri-Teshoop. Otherwise, my army will invade Egypt and I’ll capture the traitor myself.”

  FORTY-SIX

  The sweltering month of May was harvest time, after the standing crops were counted. The reapers cut the golden ears with their scythes, leaving the stubble. Staunch donkeys transported the wheat to the threshing floor. The work was hard, but there was no lack of bread, fruit, or cool water. And no foreman would have dared deny the reapers an afternoon rest.

  It was at this time of year that Homer chose to stop writing. When Ramses went to visit the old poet, for once he did not find him smoking sage leaves in his snail-shell pipe. Clad in a woolen tunic despite the heat wave, he lay on a cot at the foot of his lemon tree, a pillow propped beneath his head.

  “Your Majesty . . . I’d given up hope of seeing you.”

  “What’s going on here, Homer?”

  “Old age is all. I’m tired to the bone.”

  “Why haven’t you called for the palace doctors?”

  “I’m not ill, Your Majesty. Death is a natural part of life. Hector, my black and white cat, has left me. I haven’t the heart to replace him.”

  “You still have tales to tell.”

  “I’ve given the best of myself in the Iliad and the Odyssey. Now that it’s time for the final passage, why should I resist?”

  “We’re going to take care of you, Homer.”

  “How long have you been on the throne, Your Majesty?”

  “Fifteen years.”

  “You aren’t experienced enough to fool an old poet who’s seen so many men leave this world. Death has crept inside me, chilling my blood, and no medicine can halt its progress. But we have more important matters to discuss. Your ancestors have built a unique country; you must take good care of it. What of the war with the Hittites?”

  “Ahsha has fulfilled his mission. We hope to sign a treaty that will put an end to the hostilities.”

  “How sweet it is to leave this earth at peace, after writing so much about war . . . as I had one of my heroes say, ‘The sunlight falls into the ocean, burrows into the fertile earth, and comes the dark night, the shadowy night that the vanquished crave.’ Today I’m the one who’s vanquished and heading for darkness.”

  “I’ll build you a magnificent house of eternity.”

  “No, Your Majesty . . . I’ve stayed a Greek, and for my people the afterlife brings only pain and oblivion. At my age, it’s too late to change my beliefs. Grim as it may seem to you, it’s what I’m prepared for.”

  “Our sages claim that the works of great writers will last longer than the pyramids.”

  Homer smiled.

  “Would you grant me one last favor, Your Majesty? Take my right hand, the one I wrote with . . . your strength will help me to the other side.”

  And the poet peacefully breathed his last.

  Homer lay beneath a small mound close to his lemon tree. In his shroud were copies of the Iliad and Odyssey and a papyrus with the tale of the battle of Kadesh. Only Ramses, Nefertari, and Ahmeni, deeply affected, had attended the burial.

  When the monarch returned to his office, Serramanna presented him with a report.

  “No trace of the sorcerer Ofir, Your Majesty. He’s probably left the country.”

  “Could he be hiding among the Hebrews?”

  “If he’s changed his appearance and gained their confidence, why not?”

  “What are your informers saying?”

  “Since Moses has become the Hebrews’ acknowledged leader, they’ve stopped talking.”

  “Then you don’t know what the Hebrews are plotting?”

  “Yes and no, Your Majesty.”

  “Explain yourself, Serramanna.”

  “It can only be a revolt led by Moses and the enemies of Egypt.”

  “Moses has requested a private audience with me.”

  “Don’t grant him one, Your Majesty!”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “That he may try something drastic.”

  “Surely you exaggerate.”

  “A revolutionary will stop at nothing.”

  “Moses is my childhood friend.”

  “Not any longer, Your Majesty.”

  The May sunlight streamed into Ramses’ office, lit by three barred windows, one giving on the inner courtyard where several chariots stood. The decor was stark: white walls, a straight-backed armchair for the monarch and straw-seated chairs for his visitors, a papyrus cabinet, and one large table. Seti would have approved, and Ramses often glanced at the statue of his father that was the room’s only ornament.

  Enter Moses.

  Tall, broad-shouldered, with flowing hair, a full beard, and a weathered face, the Hebrew was in the prime of his manhood.

  “Sit down, Moses.”

  “I prefer to stand.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I spent a long time in the desert. It allowed me to think.”

  “And did you find wisdom?”

  “I was schooled in the wisdom of the Egyptians, but what is that in regard to the will of Yahweh?”

  “Then you’re still full of your wild notions.”

  “More than ever, and now the majority of my people agree with me. Soon they’ll all follow me out of Egypt.”

  “I remember what my father, Seti, told me: Pharaoh must tolerate no rebel or instigator. It would mean the end of the law of Ma’at and the advent of disorder, bringing trouble to great and small alike.”

  “The law that Egypt observes no longer applies to the Hebrews.”

  “As long as they live in this land, they must obey it.”

  “Grant my people permission to make a three days’ journey into the desert, where we can sacrifice to Yahweh.”

  “The security constraints I’ve already outlined force me to deny your request.”

  Moses gripped his gnarled walking stick more tightly.

  “I cannot accept that as your final answer.”

  “In the name of friendship, I’ll overlook your insolence.”

  “I know I’m addressing Pharaoh, the Lord of the Two Lands, and I have no wish to show disrespect. However, Yahweh must still come first, and I will continue to serve as the mouthpiece for His demands.”

  “If you incite the Hebrews to revolt, I’ll be forced to suppress it.”

  “I’m aware of that. That’s why Yahweh will use other means. If you persist in denying the Hebrews’ demands for freedom, God will visit dreadful plagues upon Egypt.”

  “Do you think you can frighten me?”

  “I’ll plead my cause before your notables and your people, and Yahweh’s infinite power will persuade them.”

  “Egypt has nothing to fear from you, Moses.”

  How lovely Nefertari was! As she of
ficiated at the consecration of a new chapel, Ramses admired her.

  His queen, the “sweet of love” whose voice gave joy and said nothing superfluous, who filled the palace with her scent and her grace, who perceived good and evil clearly—this was the woman who had become the beloved Lady of the Two Lands. Wearing a six-strand necklace and a headdress topped with two tall plumes, she seemed to belong to the universe of goddesses where youth and beauty never faded.

  On his mother Tuya’s stern face Ramses discerned a certain satisfaction in the knowledge that her successor was worthy of Egypt. Tuya’s discreet but skillful guidance had helped Nefertari find the inner harmony that was the hallmark of a great queen.

  The ceremony was followed by a reception in Tuya’s honor. She stood in the receiving line, half listening to the usual platitudes. The diplomat Meba finally reached Tuya and the Pharaoh. Smiling broadly, he launched into praises of Seti’s widow.

  “I’m dissatisfied with your work at the State Department,” interrupted Ramses. “With Ahsha away, you should have been exchanging more messages with our allies.”

  “Your Majesty, the quantity and quality of the forthcoming tributes is exceptional! Rest assured that I’ve set a high price on Egypt’s support. Any number of envoys are seeking to pay homage, for no pharaoh’s prestige has ever been greater!”

  “Have you no other news for me?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty: Ahsha has just sent word of his imminent return to Pi-Ramses. I plan to hold a fine reception in his honor.”

  “Does his dispatch give the reasons for this return voyage?”

  “No, Your Majesty.”

  The king and his mother turned to the next in line.

  “Is peace still at hand, Ramses?” asked Tuya.

  “If Meba is right and Ahsha has left Hatti without warning, it’s probably not because he’s bringing good news.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  After some ten long sessions with Uri-Teshoop, Ramses knew all about the Hittite army, its preferred strategies, its armaments, its strengths and weaknesses. The deposed commander, in his eagerness to harm Hattusili, had proved most cooperative. In exchange for the information he offered, Uri-Teshoop was kept under house arrest in a pleasant villa with two Syrian domestics and provided with an ample diet he took to immediately.

  Ramses, for his part, came to appreciate the size and ferocity of the monster he had tackled with all the fire of his youth. Without Amon and Seti helping him, his rashness might have been Egypt’s ruin. Even in its weakened state, Hatti remained a military power to be reckoned with. Any alliance between the two powers would translate into lasting peace for the region, for no warring people would dare take them on.

  Ramses and Nefertari were discussing the possibility in the shade of a sycamore when a breathless Ahmeni announced Ahsha’s arrival.

  The secretary of state’s long absence had done nothing to change him. His face was long and fine-boned, his mustache trim, his eyes bright and intelligent, his build slender. He could appear haughty and distant, and it would be easy to assume that his view of life was supremely ironic.

  Ahsha bowed to the royal couple.

  “I beg forgiveness, Your Royal Highnesses, but I haven’t had time for a shower or massage . . . I apologize for my appearance, but the message I bring you is so urgent that it must take precedence over my personal comfort.”

  “Then we’ll save our congratulations for later,” Ramses said with a smile. “Although we’re overjoyed to see you safely back.”

  “In my state, accepting your ceremonial embrace would amount to high treason. You don’t know how beautiful Egypt seems, Ramses! The more I travel, the better it is to come home.”

  “Humph,” said Ahmeni. “You’d be better off staying put. Watching the seasons change from your office window is the real way to appreciate the pleasures of life in Egypt.”

  “You two can argue later,” Ramses broke in. “Tell me, Ahsha, were you expelled from Hatti?”

  “No, but Emperor Hattusili wanted his demands transmitted directly.”

  “Are you announcing the establishment of peace talks?”

  “That would have been my fondest wish. Unfortunately, I’m bringing you an ultimatum instead.”

  “Is Hattusili going to be as warlike as Uri-Teshoop?”

  “Hattusili comprehends that peace with Egypt would keep Assyria in check. Uri-Teshoop is precisely the problem.”

  “Your move was inspired! Now I know everything about the Hittite army.”

  “Very useful in case of a conflict, I agree. But if we don’t hand over Uri-Teshoop, Hattusili will wage war on us.”

  “Uri-Teshoop is our guest.”

  “Hattusili wants to see his corpse burned at the stake.”

  “I’ve granted Muwattali’s son political asylum and I’ll never go back on my word. That would mean the end of Ma’at, and Egypt would soon be mired in deceit and cowardice.”

  “That’s what I told Hattusili, but his position is firm. Either we extradite Uri-Teshoop and peace becomes a possibility, or else the conflict continues.”

  “Mine is just as firm: Egypt won’t trifle with the right to exile, and Uri-Teshoop won’t be extradited.”

  Ahsha slumped in a low-backed armchair.

  “All these wasted years, all this trouble for nothing . . . but Your Majesty is right: better war than dishonor. At least we have more accurate information to fight the Hittites.”

  “May I say something, if it pleases Pharaoh?” asked Nefertari.

  The Great Royal Wife’s soft, even voice enchanted the monarch, the ambassador, and the scribe.

  “It was the women of Egypt who liberated the country from its occupiers in the past,” Nefertari reminded them. “And women negotiated peace treaties with foreign powers. Hasn’t Tuya herself continued this tradition, teaching me by her example?”

  “What are you proposing?” queried Ramses.

  “I’m going to write to the Empress Puduhepa. If I can persuade her to begin negotiations, won’t she persuade her husband to modify his stance?”

  “We mustn’t discount the stumbling block Uri-Teshoop represents,” objected Ahsha. “Still, Empress Puduhepa is a capable and intelligent woman, more concerned with Hatti’s welfare than with her personal interest. She would hardly be indifferent to a personal appeal from the Queen of Egypt. And since her influence over Hattusili is considerable, the outcome might be favorable. The Great Royal Wife should be aware, however, that it is a most difficult undertaking.”

  “Forgive me for leaving you,” said Nefertari, “but you’ll understand that I need to begin at once.”

  Ahsha watched admiringly as the queen withdrew, airy and luminous.

  “If Nefertari’s overtures work,” said Ramses to his chief of diplomatic affairs, “you’ll go back to Hatti. I’ll never extradite Uri-Teshoop, but you’ll win the peace for us.”

  “You’re asking the impossible. That’s what I like about working for you.”

  The king turned to Ahmeni. “Have you asked Setau to return at once?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “What’s going on?” Ahsha asked edgily.

  “Moses now considers himself the mouthpiece of his One God, this Yahweh that’s telling him to lead the Hebrews out of Egypt,” explained Ahmeni.

  “You mean all the Hebrews?”

  “He sees them as a people with a right to independence.”

  “That’s madness!”

  “Not only is it impossible to reason with Moses, but he’s beginning to make threats.”

  “And you’re afraid of him?”

  “I fear that our friend Moses may become a powerful enemy,” declared Ramses, “and I’ve learned not to underestimate my adversaries. That’s why I need Setau here with me.”

  “I can’t believe it’s come to this,” Ahsha said gloomily. “Moses was always so strong and true.”

  “He still is, but now he’s become a fanatic.”

  “You frighten me,
Ramses. This conflict with Moses seems far more dangerous than war with the Hittites.”

  “We have to win it or perish.”

  Setau put his broad hands on Kha’s frail shoulders.

  “I swear by all the snakes on earth, you’re almost a man!”

  The contrast between the two was striking. Kha, Ramses’ eldest son, was a pale, fragile-appearing young scribe. Setau, stocky, virile, swarthy, with bulging muscles, a square, stubbly jaw, dressed in a pocket-studded antelope tunic, looked like an old prospector.

  At first glance, no one would have imagined the two could be close. Yet Kha considered Setau as the master who had introduced him to the invisible, and Setau saw Kha as an exceptional young man who could probe the deepest mysteries.

  “I’m afraid you’ve done some stupid things while I’ve been gone,” frowned Setau.

  Kha smiled. “Well, I hope you won’t be too disappointed in me.”

  “You’ve joined the priesthood!”

  “I perform a few duties at the temple, yes . . . it’s what was expected of me. And besides, I wanted to.”

  “Good for you, my boy. But tell me . . . what’s happened to the amulet I gave you, the magic band I put around your wrist?”

  “I took them off during my purification ceremony, when I entered the temple, and I haven’t seen them since. Now that you’re back, I’m no longer at risk, and the priesthood has given me new protection.”

  “You should still wear your amulets.”

  “Do you wear any?”

  “My antelope skin protects me.”

  An arrow whizzed past them, making a bull’s-eye in a nearby target. Ramses had told the two men to meet him at an army archery range.

  “Your father is as good a shot as ever,” Setau said coolly.

  Kha watched his father set down the bow he alone had the strength to draw, the bow he had used at the battle of Kadesh. The monarch’s stature seemed only to increase. His mere presence embodied supreme authority.