“What happened with the revolt in Nubia?”
“You heard about that in Hattusa?” the Sard asked edgily.
“Don’t worry, the information remained confidential.”
“Ramses took matters in hand. Shaanar’s confederates turned on him and killed him.”
“We may achieve peace in the north as well as the south, then! If Ramses accepts the treaty that the Hittite delegation is delivering, it will bring an era of prosperity that future generations will envy.”
“Why would he refuse?”
“Because of a detail that’s more than a detail. But let’s be optimistic, Serramanna.”
On the twenty-first day of the winter season in the twenty-first year of Ramses’ reign, Ahmeni escorted Ahsha and the two awestruck Hittite diplomats into the audience chamber in the palace at Pi-Ramses. The grimness of their warlike nation was in stark contrast to this colorful universe, a combination of splendor and refinement.
The messengers presented the Pharaoh with the silver tablets. Ahsha read the preliminary declaration.
May a thousand divinities, among the gods and goddesses of Hatti and Egypt, witness this treaty drawn up by that the Emperor of Hatti and the Pharaoh of Egypt. As witnesses we call the sun, the moon, the gods and goddesses of heaven and earth, the mountains and rivers, the sea, the winds, and the clouds.
These thousands of divinities would destroy the house, country, and subjects of any party not observing the treaty. As for those who do observe it, these thousands of divinities will act to make them prosper and live happily with their households, children, and subjects.
In the presence of the Great Royal Wife Nefertari and Queen Mother Tuya, Ramses approved the declaration, which Ahmeni transcribed on papyrus.
“Does Emperor Hattusili acknowledge the Hittites’ responsibility for the acts of war committed over the past few years?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” replied one of the envoys.
“Does he allow that this treaty involves our successors?”
“It is his wish that this agreement engender peace and brotherhood. It therefore applies to our children and our children’s children.”
“What borders will we respect?”
“The Orontes; a line of fortifications in southern Syria; the route separating Egyptian Byblos from the province of Amurru, considered a Hittite protectorate; the route passing south of Hittite Kadesh, marking the northern end of the Bekka desert, which will be in the Egyptian sphere of influence. The Phoenician ports will remain under Pharaoh’s control; Egyptian diplomats and merchants will have free access to the route leading to Hatti.”
Ahsha held his breath. Would Ramses permanently relinquish the fortress of Kadesh, and especially the province of Amurru? Neither Seti nor his son had been able to take the famous fortress, the site of Ramses’ greatest victory, and it seemed logical that Kadesh would remain in the Hittite fold.
But Amurru . . . Egypt had fought hard to keep the province. Lives had been lost in the process. Ahsha was afraid that Pharaoh would never concede it.
The monarch glanced at Nefertari, reading the answer in her eyes.
“We accept,” declared Ramses the Great.
Ahmeni continued to write. Ahsha felt an immense joy surge through him.
“What more does my brother Hattusili desire?” inquired Ramses.
“A definitive nonaggression pact, Your Majesty, and a defensive alliance against any parties that might attack Egypt or Hatti.”
“We, too, desire this pact and this alliance, which will ensure prosperity and happiness.”
Ahmeni unfalteringly continued his notation.
“Your Majesty, Emperor Hattusili also wishes to see the royal succession in our two countries respected and safeguarded according to rites and traditions.”
“We would not expect otherwise.”
“Our sovereign hopes to resolve the problem of mutual extradition of fugitives.”
Ahsha was afraid to hear what came next. A single disputed clause could invalidate the entire treaty.
“I demand humane treatment for extradited persons,” declared Ramses. “When returned to their own country, be it Egypt or Hatti, they should suffer no punishment nor insult, and their homes should be returned to them intact. Furthermore, Uri-Teshoop, having become Egyptian, will be free to determine his own fate.”
The two envoys, empowered by Hattusili to accept these conditions, readily agreed.
The treaty could take effect.
Ahmeni entrusted the final version to royal scribes, who would inscribe it on the finest papyrus.
“This text will be written in stone at several of our major temples,” announced Ramses, “particularly the shrine to Ra in Heliopolis, the south side of the east wing of the ninth pylon at Karnak, and the southern facade of my great new temple of Abu Simbel. From north to south, from the Delta to Nubia, Egyptians will know they are to live forever at peace with the Hittites, as the gods are their witness.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
The Hittite ambassadors, given accommodation at a palace reserved for foreign guests, were swept up in the capital’s mood of celebration. They noted Ramses’ overwhelming popularity. Everyone seemed to be singing his praises: “He dazzles us like the sun, refreshes us like water and wind. We love him like bread and fine linen, for he is father and mother to the entire country, the light of both banks of the Nile,” went the refrain.
Nefertari invited the Hittites to attend a service in the temple of Hathor. They listened to her invocation of the unique power that spontaneously created itself each day, giving rise to all forms of life, illuminating human faces, making the trees and flowers quake with joy. When all eyes turned to the Principle concealed in the gold of the sky, the birds soared heavenward and humankind was headed toward peace.
Moving from amazement to delight, the Hittites were invited to a banquet featuring pigeon pie, marinated kidneys, roast beef, Nile perch, grilled goose, lentils, mild garlic and onions, zucchini, lettuce, cucumbers, peas, beans, stewed figs, apples, dates, watermelon, goat cheese, yogurt, round honey cakes, fresh bread, sweet beer, red and white wine. On this special occasion, the palace broke out jars sealed on the sixth day of Year Four of Seti’s reign, marked with the sign of Anubis, the master of the desert. The abundance and quality of the food was astounding, the stone dishware remarkable. In the end, they surrendered to the moment, singing in Egyptian, verse after verse in praise of Ramses.
Yes, this was peace.
The capital had finally gone to sleep.
Despite the late hour, Nefertari was writing a letter to her sister Puduhepa in her own hand, thanking her for all her efforts and telling her of the wonderful outcome for Hatti and Egypt. When the queen put her seal to it, Ramses gently placed his hands on her shoulders.
“Isn’t it late to be working?”
“There aren’t enough hours in the day, which is as it should be. Isn’t that what you tell your cabinet? The Great Royal Wife must not shirk the law.”
Nefertari’s fragrance enchanted Ramses. The temple’s master scentmaker had used no fewer than sixteen ingredients, including fragrant reeds, juniper, broomflower, pine resin, myrrh, and aromatic herbs. Green eyeliner rimmed her elegant lids, a wig anointed with oils from Libya set off the sublime loveliness of her face.
Ramses lifted the wig and uncoiled Nefertari’s long, wavy hair.
“I’m happy,” she said dreamily. “We’ve done well by our people, haven’t we?”
“Your name will always be associated with this treaty. You’re the one who paved the way for peace.”
“Our personal glory is nothing in the proper sequence of days and rituals.”
The king slipped the strap of Nefertari’s gown off her shoulder, kissing her on the neck.
“How can I say how much I love you?”
She turned and pressed her lips to his. “Enough speeches for one night,” she said.
The first official letter originating from Hatti following
the peace treaty’s acceptance piqued curiosity at the palace in Pi-Ramses. Did Hattusili want to revisit some essential point?
The king broke the seal affixed to the cloth wrappings, uncovered the rare wood tablet, and skimmed the cuneiform text of the message.
He immediately went to find the queen. Nefertari had just finished reading through the liturgy to mark the return of spring.
“A strange message, in truth!”
“A serious incident?” frowned the queen.
“No, a sort of cry for help. Some Hittite princess, with an unpronounceable name, has taken ill. According to Hattusili, she appears possessed by a demon that Hatti’s best doctors have failed to exorcise. Since Egyptian medicine is world famous, our new ally is begging me to send him a healer from the House of Life to help the princess recover her health and bear the child she desperately wants.”
“This is excellent news. It can only strengthen the ties between our two countries.”
The king sent for Ahsha and outlined the contents of Hattusili’s communiqué.
The head of Egyptian diplomacy burst out laughing.
“Does this request seem so outlandish?” the queen asked, nonplussed.
“The Hittite emperor has limitless faith in our medicine! He’s asking for nothing short of a miracle.”
“Do you think our doctors are so incompetent?”
“Of course not, but how can a woman over sixty have a baby, even if she is a Hittite princess?”
They had a good laugh. Then Ramses dictated a reply to his brother Hattusili as Ahmeni took it down.
As for the princess who has been incapacitated—mainly by her age—we know her identity. There are no medicines that will lead to her pregnancy. But if the Storm God and the Sun God so decide . . . I will therefore send you an excellent magician and a competent doctor.
Ramses immediately dispatched a magical statue of the healing god Khonsu, the space traveler, whose symbol was the crescent moon. Who else but a divinity could amend the laws of nature?
When word from Nebu, the high priest of Karnak, arrived in Pi-Ramses, the king decided to move the court to Thebes. With his usual efficiency, Ahmeni handled the arrangements.
The royal flagship housed everyone that Ramses held dear: his wife, Nefertari, in all her glory; his mother, Tuya, content that she had lived to see peace between Egypt and Hatti at last; Iset the Fair, thrilled to take part in the great occasion at hand; his children, Kha, the high priest of Memphis, the musical Meritamon, sturdy young Merenptah; his faithful friends Ahmeni and Ahsha, with whose help he had achieved so much for Egypt; and Nedjem and Serramanna, his loyal servants. Only Setau and Lotus were missing; on their way north from Abu Simbel, they would be meeting the royal party at Thebes. No one but those two . . . and Moses, who had forsaken Egypt.
At the landing, the high priest of Karnak came out to greet the royal couple in person. Now Nebu really did look old. Hunched, shuffling, clutching his cane, weak-voiced, he suffered from crippling arthritis. Yet his eyes remained lively and his sense of authority had not diminished.
The king and the high priest embraced in ceremonial style.
“I’ve kept my promise, Your Majesty. Thanks to Bakhen and his workmen, your Eternal Temple is finished. The gods have granted me the grace of seeing their dwelling place completed—and it’s a masterpiece.”
“I’ll keep my promise, too, Nebu. We’ll climb to the temple roof together and look over the shrine, its outbuildings, and the palace.”
There was the enormous pylon, or monumental gateway, whose inner wall was decorated with scenes of the victory at Kadesh; the vast forecourt with pillars representing the king as Osiris; the colossal statue of the seated king; a second pylon unveiling the harvest ritual; the huge hall of columns; the sanctuary with reliefs relating the mysteries of daily worship; the tall sculpted tree symbolizing the everlasting nature of pharaonic rule. There were so many marvels to admire that the king and queen were beside themselves with joy.
Events surrounding the dedication of the Eternal Temple lasted several weeks. For Ramses, the height of the celebration would be the ritual birth of the chapel in memory of his parents. He and Nefertari recited the prayers that brought it to life, the words of which were carved forever on the chapel’s columns.
As Pharaoh finished donning the vestments for the “House of Morning,” Ahmeni appeared, his face ashen.
“Your mother . . . your mother is asking for you.”
Ramses ran to Tuya’s bedchamber.
Seti’s widow was lying on her back, arms at her sides, eyes half closed. The king knelt and kissed her hands.
“Are you too tired to attend the dedication?”
“It’s not just fatigue, my son. I feel my death approaching.”
“Let’s send it away. We can do it together.”
“I no longer have the strength. And why should I fight it? The time has come for me to join Seti. It’s nothing to be sad about.”
“You’ll be abandoning Egypt.”
“You and your queen have the country on the right track. I know that the next inundation will be a good one. I know that justice will be respected. I can leave contented, my son, thanks to the peace that you and Nefertari have crafted. You’ll make it last. There’s nothing finer than a country at peace, where children play, cattle come back from pasture with their herdsmen piping a tune, and people respect one another, knowing that Pharaoh protects them . . . Keep Egypt happy, Ramses, and pass this harmony on to your successor.”
Facing the ultimate test, Tuya was steadfast. She remained serene and regal, her unwavering gaze fixed on eternity.
“Love Egypt with all that is in you, Ramses. Let nothing interfere with your duties as Pharaoh—no human attachment, no personal tragedy, however painful it may be.”
Tuya’s hand gripped her son’s tightly.
“Wish me well, King of Egypt. I’m off to a happier place, to dwell in the land of light and water, with Seti and all our ancestors . . .”
Tuya’s voice faded in one last breath as deep as the great beyond.
FIFTY-NINE
In the Valley of the Queens, a place of beauty and perfection, Tuya’s eternal dwelling was close by the one reserved for Nefertari. The Great Royal Wife and Pharaoh conducted the funeral rites for Seti’s widow, whose mummy would henceforth repose in a golden chamber. Transformed into Osiris and Hathor, Tuya would survive in the body of light renewed each day by the invisible energy that came from deep in the heavens. Her tomb was filled with the ritual furnishings, canopic jars containing her vital organs, precious fabrics, wine jars, flasks of oil and unguents, foodstuffs, vestments, scepters, adornments, jewelry, golden and silver sandals, and other treasures that would equip Tuya for her journey through the West and the realms of the next world.
Ramses tried to deal evenhandedly with joy and sorrow. First there was the hard-won peace with the Hittites to celebrate, along with the completion of his Eternal Temple; then there was his mother’s death to mourn. The son and man in him mourned for her, yet as Pharaoh he could not allow himself to betray her spirit. The Queen Mother had been so unshakable that even death did not seem to faze her. He must abide by the message she had left him: Egypt must come before his feelings, before his own happiness or pain.
So Ramses bowed to necessity, assisted, as always, by Nefertari. He continued to steer the ship of state as if Tuya were still with them. He must learn to do without her advice and initiatives. Now Nefertari must assume the tasks that had fallen to Tuya. Despite his helpmate’s valiant spirit, Ramses sensed that the burden might prove too great for her.
Every morning, after the rites of dawn, the two of them prayed together in the chapel at the Ramesseum dedicated to Tuya and Seti. The king needed to steep in the invisible reality created by the living stone and the hieroglyphs bearing witness to the Word. Communing with the souls of their ancestors, Ramses and Nefertari drew on the secret light that fed the spirit.
Once the seventy-day m
ourning period was over, Ahmeni approached Ramses with a number of urgent matters. Working from the Ramesseum offices with a reduced but efficient staff, Pharaoh’s private secretary was in permanent contact with Pi-Ramses and used every moment wisely.
“The flood level is excellent,” he told Ramses. “The Royal Treasury is healthier than ever, food storage is operating smoothly, the craftsmen’s guilds are hard at work. Furthermore, prices are stable with no foreseeable threat of inflation.”
“What about gold from Nubia?”
“Production continues at a satisfactory pace.”
“It sounds like paradise.”
“Hardly. But we’re doing our best to follow in Tuya and Seti’s footsteps.”
“Then why don’t you sound happier?”
“Well . . . Ahsha wants to talk to you, but he’s not sure whether the time . . .”
“Sounds like his diplomacy is rubbing off on you. Have him meet me in the library.”
The Ramesseum’s library rivaled the famous one at the House of Life in Heliopolis. Day after day, scrolls and tablets arrived and were catalogued according to Ramses’ explicit directions. A personal knowledge of the primary sources was essential if he were to govern Egypt correctly.
Ahsha was elegant in a well-cut linen robe trimmed with colored fringe. He went into raptures over the library.
“Working here would be a gift from the gods, Your Majesty.”
“The Ramesseum will be one of the kingdom’s vital centers. Are you here to consult some learned work?”
“I wanted to see you, quite simply.”
“I’m fine, Ahsha. I grieve for Tuya; I still miss my father. Yet they left me a shining example. Now tell me, are the Hittites causing us problems?”
“Not at all, Your Majesty. In fact, Hattusili is delighted because the news of our treaty has made Assyria draw in its horns. The Assyrian generals seem to understand that any attack would bring an immediate and massive response. Trade with Hatti is on the increase, and I’m certain the peace will hold for years to come. A king’s word is solid as granite, after all.”
Ramses, Volume IV Page 30
