Ramses, Volume IV

by Christian Jacq

  “Don’t tell me we’re going to negotiate with these savages, Your Majesty!”

  “We have to stop them cold. What will work is might, not a mere show of arms. The Nubians customarily lay traps, attack from the rear, and take the enemy by surprise. We won’t give them the chance. They’ll be too stunned.”

  Yes, Shaanar knew Ramses all too well. The king would march straight ahead, taking the only track that led to the mine. On either side of the site were boulders that would shelter Nubian sharpshooters. They’d pick off the squadron leaders, sending the king’s troops into disarray. Shaanar would finish off Ramses with his own hands as the king begged for mercy.

  No Egyptian soldier would come out of it alive.

  Then Shaanar would lash Ramses’ corpse to the prow of his boat and make a triumphant entry into Elephantine, before taking Thebes, Memphis, Pi-Ramses, and all of Egypt. The people would rally to his cause, and Shaanar would at last ascend to the throne, taking revenge on everyone who had underestimated him.

  The king’s brother emerged from the stone hut once occupied by the foreman of the ore refinery and climbed to the top of the sorting area. Water trickled down the sluice, freeing the precious metal from the gravel until the heavier metal sank in the collecting pool. This purification process required both patience and concentration. Shaanar considered his own life, the long years spent trying to break through Ramses’ magic. He could finally taste victory and revenge. It made him feel almost drunk.

  A lookout waved frantically, cries broke the silence. With plumes stuck in their woolly hair, the Nubian warriors were running in every direction.

  “What’s going on? Get a grip on yourselves!”

  Shaanar came down from his ledge and nabbed an agitated chieftain.

  “Calm down. You’re under orders! I’m in charge here.”

  The warrior chief pointed his spear toward the surrounding hills and boulder.

  “Everywhere . . . they’re everywhere!”

  Shaanar advanced to the center of the esplanade, looked up, and saw them. Thousands of Egyptian soldiers encircled the mine.

  On top of the highest hill, a handful of men set up a dais, upon which they placed a throne. In his blue crown, Ramses mounted it. His lion sat at his feet.

  The Nubians’ eyes were glued to the monarch. At forty-two, in the twentieth year of his reign, he was reaching the height of his powers. Brave as they were, the Nubian warriors understood that any attack on Ramses would be suicidal. Shaanar was caught in his own trap. Pharaoh’s soldiers had killed off the sentinels, leaving the rebels no chance to escape.

  “On to victory!” roared Shaanar. “Everyone follow me!”

  The Nubian chieftains revived. Yes, they must fight.

  One of them, leading twenty men shouting war cries and brandishing spears, scaled the hill where the Pharaoh sat.

  A volley of arrows pinned them to the ground. One young warrior fought on, making a nimble zigzag to the foot of the throne. Fighter stretched out and sank his claws into the Nubian’s head.

  Scepter in hand, Ramses sat like a statue. Fighter scratched the sand, shook out his mane, and settled back at his master’s feet.

  Almost all the Nubians lay down their arms and fell to the ground in submission. Furious, Shaanar ran to kick the chieftains.

  “Get up and fight! Ramses isn’t invincible!”

  When no one obeyed him, Shaanar rammed his sword through the back of an old tribal leader whose limbs jerked wildly, but not for long. His death rattle unnerved his peers. They rose to stare balefully at Ramses’ brother.

  “You betrayed us,” one of the chieftains declared. “You betrayed us and lied to us. No one can win against Ramses. You’ve only made it worse for us.”

  “Fight, you cowards!”

  “You lied,” came the chorus.

  “Follow me and we’ll kill Ramses!”

  Wild-eyed, stabbing the air, Shaanar climbed back to the ledge overlooking the reservoir and the sluice.

  “I’m Lord of Egypt, Lord of Egypt and Nubia . . .”

  Ten arrows from the chieftains’ bows pierced his head, neck, and chest. Shaanar fell backward down the slope, his body slowly tumbling toward the pool at the bottom, sinking like gravel beneath the water that trickled down from the sluice.

  FIFTY-SIX

  The Hebrews’ departure had gone without incident. Many Egyptians mourned the loss of friends and acquaintances to this wild adventure. For their part, a number of the Hebrews dreaded the danger-filled trek through the desert. How many enemies would they have to confront, how many peoples and tribes along the way would resist letting Yahweh’s worshipers pass?

  Serramanna fumed.

  Before leaving for Nubia, Ramses had entrusted Ahmeni and the Sard with maintaining order in the capital. At the least sign of trouble from the Hebrews, security forces were to clamp down. Since the exodus was proceeding calmly, Serramanna had had no grounds for questioning Moses and Aaron.

  The Sard was still convinced that the Pharaoh had made a mistake in sparing the Hebrew leader. There was no justification for such lenience, no matter how enduring their friendship. Even in exile, Moses was liable to cause a great deal of trouble.

  To be on the safe side, Serramanna had asked a dozen mercenaries to follow the Hebrews and send back regular reports on their progress. Much to his surprise, the prophet did not take the Sileh road, studded with watering spots and policed by the Egyptian army. Instead he chose a difficult route that lead to the Sea of Reeds. In this way, Moses removed the temptation of turning back.

  “Serramanna!” exclaimed Ahmeni. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Are you going to stay there forever studying routes to the north?”

  “I hate seeing Moses get off scot-free,” he muttered. “It isn’t fair.”

  “Before he died, Ofir gave us one last interesting bit of information, as if he wanted to self-destruct like a scorpion. It seems that two Bedouin tribal chiefs, Amos and Keni, are part of the exodus. They’ve apparently furnished the Hebrews with arms to use in case of trouble on the march.”

  Serramanna slammed his right fist into his left palm.

  “Illegal arms dealing . . . That means I can arrest them, along with Moses, for receiving the weapons.”

  “It’s an airtight case.”

  “I’ll leave at once with fifty chariots and bring the bunch of them back for a nice rest in prison.”

  Ramses held Nefertari tight. The “sweet of love,” wearing almost no makeup, scented like a goddess, was lovelier than ever.

  “Shaanar is dead,” the king reassured her. “And the Nubian revolt is over.”

  “Will Nubia finally remain at peace?”

  “The rebel chieftains were executed for high treason. The villages they were tyrannizing organized celebrations to mark their death. The stolen gold has been returned to me; I deposited part of it at Abu Simbel and the rest at Karnak.”

  “How is the work progressing at Abu Simbel?”

  “Setau is keeping up a remarkable pace.”

  The queen decided not to keep the latest news to herself any longer.

  “Serramanna has taken a chariot battalion to arrest Moses.”

  “What is he wanted for?”

  “It seems that two Bedouin chiefs, both Hittite agents, are traveling with the Hebrews. Serramanna wants to bring them in, along with Moses. Ahmeni didn’t try to stop him, since the law is on Serramanna’s side.”

  Ramses imagined Moses at the head of his people, pounding the ground with his staff, leading the way, moving the stragglers along, and imploring Yahweh to appear by night as a column of fire, by day as a column of clouds. No obstacle could make him turn back, no enemy could frighten him off.

  “I’ve just had a long letter from Puduhepa,” added Nefertari. “She’s sure that the treaty will be signed eventually.”

  “That’s good news,” Ramses said halfheartedly.

  “You’re afraid for Moses, aren’t you?”

  �
��I hope I never see him again.”

  “About the peace treaty, there’s still one delicate issue.”

  “Uri-Teshoop again?”

  “No, a problem with the wording. Hattusili doesn’t want to assume sole responsibility for the prevailing climate of war. He complains that it makes him look like an inferior, obliged to submit to Pharaoh’s will.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?”

  “The text of the treaty will be made public. Future generations will read it. Hattusili refuses to lose face.”

  “The Hittite must either submit or face annihilation.”

  “Are we going to let the peace agreement fall apart over a few strong words?”

  “Each word has its weight.”

  “Still, I’d like to propose a new version, if I may.”

  “Taking Hattusili’s demands into account, I suppose?”

  “Taking the future of both our peoples into account—a future free of war and misfortune.”

  Ramses kissed Nefertari on the forehead. “I suppose there’s no resisting the Great Royal Wife’s peacemaking tactics.”

  “Quite right, Your Majesty,” she replied, laying her head on Ramses’ shoulder.

  Moses was in a violent temper. Aaron had to use his stick on several slackers who insisted they wanted to return to Egypt, where they’d have enough to eat and a comfortable place to sleep. Most of the Hebrews hated the desert; it was hard for them to adapt to camping out. Many of them were beginning to grumble about the harsh existence their prophet had forced on them.

  The prophet’s voice boomed, urging the weak and cowardly to obey Yahweh and continue on their way to the Promised Land, no matter what trials and pitfalls awaited them. The long march resumed, beyond Sileh, through swamp country. The Hebrews got stuck in the mud, chariots overturned, leeches attacked both humans and animals.

  Moses decided to stop for a time not far from the border, near Lake Sarbonis and the Mediterranean. The place was considered dangerous, for the desert wind deposited vast quantities of sand on unstable surfaces, creating what was known as the Sea of Reeds.

  No one lived in this desolate countryside, prey to squalls and the whims of sea and sky. Even fishermen avoided it, frightened off by quicksand.

  A wild-eyed woman threw herself at Moses’ feet.

  “We’re all going to die in this godforsaken place!”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Look around you. Is this any Promised Land?”

  “Of course not.”

  “We won’t go a step farther, Moses.”

  “Yes you will. In the next few days we’ll cross the border and go where Yahweh is calling us.”

  “How can you be so sure of yourself?”

  “Because I’ve seen His presence, woman, and He spoke to me. Go get some sleep now. We have a great deal more to accomplish.”

  Subdued, the woman obeyed him.

  “This place is horrible,” agreed Aaron. “I wish we could leave right away.”

  “A long rest is necessary. Tomorrow, at dawn, Yahweh will give us the strength to continue.”

  “Do you ever doubt we’ll succeed, Moses?”

  “Never, Aaron.”

  Serramanna’s chariot battalion, commanded by one of Ramses’ royal sons, had lost no time catching up with the Hebrews. When he smelled the sea air, the old pirate’s nostrils flared. He signaled his men to stop.

  “Anyone know about this place?”

  A veteran charioteer spoke up. “These swamps are haunted. I don’t advise you to disturb the demons.”

  “Still, this is the way the Hebrews headed,” objected the Sard.

  “They’re free to act insane. We ought to have the sense to turn around.”

  In the distance smoke rose.

  “The Hebrew camp isn’t far from here,” the royal son remarked. “Let’s go arrest the men we want.”

  “Yahweh’s followers are armed,” Serramanna reminded him, “and they outnumber us.”

  “Our men are trained soldiers and our chariots give us the advantage. At a good distance, we’ll fire a volley of arrows and demand that they hand over Moses and the two Bedouins. Otherwise we’ll charge.”

  Not without foreboding, the chariots slogged on.

  Aaron woke with a start. Moses was already awake, staff in hand.

  “That rumbling . . .”

  “Yes, it’s Egyptian chariots.”

  “They’re heading our way!”

  “We still have time to escape.”

  The two Bedouins, Amos and Keni, refused to set foot in the Sea of Reeds, but the frantic Hebrews readily followed Moses. In the gathering darkness, it was hard to tell sand from water, but Moses made his way unfalteringly between sea and lake, guided by the fire that had burned in him since adolescence, the fire that had become his quest for the Promised Land.

  The Egyptian chariots found the going much more difficult. Some sank in quicksand, others lost their way in the swamps. The royal son’s chariot got stuck in a sinkhole, while Serramanna’s ran smack into the two Bedouins in flight.

  A wind blew in from the east, on top of the desert wind, drying a path across the Sea of Reeds for the Hebrews.

  Hardly caring that the two Hittite agents had been crushed beneath his wheels, Serramanna cursed to find that his chariot would no longer budge. By the time they freed the vehicles and found the scattered troops, including a few injured men, the wind had changed. Moisture-laden gusts stirred up waves that closed the path through the reeds.

  Seething with frustration, Serramanna watched Moses escape.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Despite the excellent care she received from Neferet, an exceptionally gifted young woman doctor, Queen Mother Tuya was preparing for the great journey. Soon she would be joining Seti, leaving Egypt’s future happiness a virtual certainty. Only virtual because the peace treaty with the Hittites had not yet been finalized.

  When Nefertari came to find her in the garden where she was meditating, Tuya could read the emotion in the Great Royal Wife’s face.

  “Your Majesty, I’ve just received this letter from Empress Puduhepa.”

  “My eyes are bad, Nefertari. Please read it to me.”

  The queen’s spellbinding voice gladdened Tuya’s heart.

  To my sister, spouse of the Son of Light, Nefertari,

  All is well with our two countries. I hope this letter finds you and your family in the best of health. My daughter is becoming a fine big girl and my horses are magnificent. May it be the same for you and your family, your horses, and Ramses the Great’s pet lion. Your servant Hattusili bows at the feet of Pharaoh.

  Peace and brotherhood: these are the terms in order, since the Sun God of Egypt and the Storm God of Hatti wish to fraternize.

  Bearing the text of the treaty, the ambassadors of Egypt and Hatti are on their way to Pi-Ramses so that Pharaoh may set the final seal upon our joint decision.

  May my sister Nefertari enjoy the protection of all the gods and goddesses.

  Falling into each other’s arms, Nefertari and Tuya wept with joy.

  Serramanna felt like an insect about to be crushed under Ramses’ sandal. The downcast Sard was sure he would be banished from the palace. The thought of rejection hurt. The old pirate had grown used to his role as a peacekeeper and righter of wrongs. His absolute devotion to Ramses had given his life meaning and put an end to his wandering. The country he had come to plunder was now his homeland. The old sailor had come ashore. He wanted to stay.

  Serramanna was grateful to Ramses for not calling him to task in front of the court and his subordinates. The monarch would see him in his office, man to man.

  “Your Majesty, I made a gross miscalculation. No one knew the area, it was . . .”

  “The two Bedouin spies?”

  “I ran over them with my chariot.”

  “Are you certain that Moses made it through the swamp?”

  “He and his followers crossed the Sea of Reeds.”

  “
Let’s forget about them, since they’ve crossed the border.”

  “But Moses betrayed you!”

  “He’s following his god, Serramanna. Since he’ll no longer trouble the harmony of the Two Lands, we may as well let him go. I have an important mission for you to handle.”

  The Sard could hardly believe his ears. Would the king overlook his fiasco?

  “You’re to head for the border with two chariot detachments to meet the Hittite delegation and escort them to the capital.”

  “I’d be, well, I’d be . . .”

  “You’ll have the peace of the world in your hands, Serramanna.”

  Hattusili had given in.

  Trusting his instincts as a statesman, the advice of his wife, Puduhepa, and the recommendations of the Egyptian ambassador Ahsha, he had reworded the nonaggression pact, without opposing the conditions set by Ramses. Two messengers were appointed to deliver the silver tablets covered with cuneiform writing to the Pharaoh.

  Hattusili promised Ramses to exhibit the treaty in the temple of the sun goddess in Hattusa, providing that his Egyptian counterpart promised to do the same in one of his great sanctuaries. But would Ramses ratify the treaty without adding further clauses?

  From the Hittite capital to the Egyptian border, the atmosphere was tense. Ahsha knew he had pushed Hattusili to the limit. If Ramses rejected any part of the agreement, the treaty would remain invalid. As for the Hittite soldiers, they were clearly nervous. Groups of dissidents were liable to attack them to keep the peace delegation from reaching its destination. Traps seemed to lurk in every mountain pass, every forest. Yet the journey proved uneventful.

  When he spied Serramanna and the Egyptian chariots, Ahsha breathed a long sigh of relief. It would be clear sailing from now on.

  The Sard and the lead Hittite chariot officer saluted each other coolly. The onetime pirate would gladly have exterminated the barbarians, but he bowed to his duty to Ramses and concentrated on the mission at hand.

  For the first time, Hittite chariots entered the Delta and traveled down the road to Pi-Ramses.