Ramses, Volume IV

by Christian Jacq

  “What seems to be bothering you?”

  “Well, it’s Moses. Do you mind discussing him?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “My operatives haven’t lost sight of the Hebrews.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Still wandering in the desert, though most of them are unhappy about it. Moses rules his people with an iron fist. ‘Yahweh is an all-consuming fire and a jealous god,’ he’s fond of saying.”

  “Do you know where they’re headed?”

  “It’s probable that their Promised Land is Canaan, but taking it over will be difficult. The Hebrews have already clashed with the Midianites and the Amorites. They now occupy the land of Moab. The local tribes are afraid of these new wanderers. They see them as pillagers.”

  “Moses won’t give up. If he has to wage a hundred battles, he will. I’m sure he studied Canaan from the top of Mount Negeb and that it looked like a land of milk and honey.”

  “The Hebrews are stirring up trouble, Your Majesty.”

  “What do you suggest, Ahsha?”

  “Let’s eliminate Moses. Without their leader, the people will return to Egypt, provided you grant them amnesty.”

  “Rid yourself of that notion. Moses will follow his destiny.”

  “As his friend, I applaud your decision, but as a diplomat I deplore it. Like me, you’re convinced that Moses will achieve his ends and his arrival in the Promised Land will upset the balance of power in the region.”

  “As long as Moses doesn’t export his doctrine, can’t we come to terms with him? Good relations between our two peoples could have a stabilizing influence.”

  “Are you giving me a lesson in foreign relations?”

  “No, Ahsha. I’m only trying to keep some hope alive.”

  In Iset the Fair’s heart, tenderness had taken the place of passion. As the mother of Ramses’ two sons, she still felt the same admiration for the king, yet had given up trying to win him. Who could rival Nefertari, who grew more beautiful and radiant with each passing year? As she matured, Iset the Fair had grown more content with what life had to offer her. She was happy talking with Kha about the mysteries of creation, listening to Merenptah tell her about the workings of Egyptian society (which he studied with the earnestness of a future leader), chatting with Nefertari in the palace gardens, basking in Ramses’ presence as often as possible . . . in truth, Iset considered, she was a fortunate woman.

  “Come,” the Great Royal Wife proposed, “let’s take a boat ride on the river.”

  It was summer. The inundation had transformed Egypt into one immense lake. People rowed from village to village. The hot sun made the life-giving waters sparkle. In the sky, hundreds of birds danced.

  The two women, seated on a white dais, had rubbed their skin with scented oil. Earthenware jugs held water at their disposal.

  “Kha has gone back to Memphis,” said Iset the Fair.

  “Are you very sorry?”

  “The king’s eldest son is interested only in ancient monuments, symbols, rituals. When his father calls on him to help in affairs of state, how will he react?”

  “He’s so intelligent that he’ll adapt.”

  “What do you think of Merenptah?”

  “He’s very different from his brother, but it’s already clear that he’ll be someone exceptional.”

  “Your daughter, Meritamon, is a wonderful young woman.”

  “She’s fulfilling my childhood dream, living in a temple and playing music for the gods.”

  “The people of Egypt worship you, Nefertari. Their love is the measure of all you give them.”

  “How you’ve changed, Iset!”

  “I let go, and my soul was freed from the demons of envy. If you knew how much I admire you for who you are, for the good you do . . .”

  “With your help, Tuya’s absence will be easier to bear. Since you no longer have the children to supervise, would you agree to work alongside me?”

  “I don’t deserve to.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “Your Majesty . . .”

  Nefertari kissed Iset the Fair on the forehead. It was summer, and Egypt was a happy land.

  The palace at the Ramesseum was already as lively as the one in Pi-Ramses. As the king had wished, his Eternal Temple was fast becoming a major economic force in upper Egypt, working in concert with the great estates of Karnak. On the West Bank at Thebes, the Ramesseum proclaimed forever the magnificence of Ramses. The greatness of his reign was already apparent.

  Ahmeni was the one who received the message signed by Setau. Dropping everything, choked with emotion, the scribe went to look for Ramses, finding him in the pool adjoining the palace. Every day during the summer months the king swam for half an hour at least.

  “Your Majesty, a letter from Nubia!”

  The king quickly reached the side of the pool. Stooping, Ahmeni handed him the papyrus.

  It contained only a few words, but they were the words that Ramses had been hoping for.

  SIXTY

  In the prow of the royal couple’s boat stood a gilded bust of the goddess Hathor, holding the solar disk between her cow horns. The queen of the stars was also the patroness of navigation; her watchful presence would guarantee a peaceful journey toward Abu Simbel.

  Abu Simbel, its two temples celebrating Ramses and Nefertari’s eternal union, was finished. Setau’s message was unambiguous, and the snake charmer was never one to boast.

  Amidships was a cabin with a domed roof atop two small columns, their capitals carved with papyrus tufts in back, lotus blossoms in front. Openings allowed the air to circulate. For the queen, this long, leisurely voyage was a treat.

  Nefertari was concealing her fatigue so as not to worry the king. She rose and went to him on deck, standing beneath the white awning set on four stakes. Lying on his side, Fighter dozed in the heat, back to back with the old yellow dog. Watcher knew that his friend would protect him as he napped, regaining his strength.

  “Abu Simbel . . . Has ever a king given such a gift to his queen?”

  “Has ever a king been blessed with Nefertari?”

  “So much happiness, Ramses. Sometimes it makes me afraid.”

  “Our happiness is a gift we must share with our people, with all of Egypt and the generations to come. That’s why I want our presence to live forever in stone at Abu Simbel. Not you and I, Nefertari, but Pharaoh and the Great Royal Wife, whose roles we fulfill on this earth for so short a time.”

  Nefertari snuggled against Ramses and contemplated Nubia in all its wildness and splendor.

  And here were the sandstone bluffs, domain of the goddess Hathor, framing a curve of the Nile on the east. Not long before, a stretch of tawny sand separated the two cliffs that appealed for an architect or sculptor’s touch—and that hand had acted, carving twin temples from the heart of the sun-kissed rock face. The facades were of a power and grace that stunned the queen. In front of the southernmost shrine sat four colossal statues of Ramses; the northern temple boasted statues of the Pharaoh standing and walking, flanking smaller statues of Nefertari.

  Abu Simbel would no longer be a simple landmark for sailors, but a transfigured site where a spiritual fire would blaze, immobile and immutable, in the golden sands of Nubia.

  On the riverbank, Setau and Lotus waved in welcome, with all the workmen following suit. Some shrank back as Fighter strolled down the gangway, but the king’s commanding stature allayed their fears. The lion walked on his right, the old yellow dog on his left.

  Ramses had never seen an expression of such contentment on Setau’s face.

  “You should be proud of yourself,” said the king, embracing his friend.

  “The designers and stoneworkers deserve your praise more than I do. I only encouraged them to build something worthy of you.”

  “Worthy of the mysterious powers residing within this temple, Setau.”

  At the end of the gangway, Nefertari faltered. Lotus, giving her a
hand, realized that the queen was feeling faint.

  “Keep going,” Nefertari said firmly. “I’m fine, just fine.”

  “But Your Majesty . . .”

  “Let’s not spoil the dedication, Lotus.”

  “I have a remedy that may help.”

  The rugged Setau never knew quite how to act around Nefertari, whose beauty fascinated him. He bowed and stammered, “Your Majesty . . . I mean to say . . .”

  “Let’s celebrate the birth of Abu Simbel, Setau. I want it to be unforgettable.”

  Every tribal chief in Nubia had been summoned to Abu Simbel for the dedication. Wearing their finest necklaces and fresh kilts, they kissed the feet of Ramses and Nefertari, then boomed a victory chant that mounted to the starry skies.

  That night, there was more delicious food than grains of sand on the riverbanks, more slices of roast meat than flowers in the royal gardens, and a wealth of bread and pastries. The wine flowed like a stream at flood stage, incense burned on the outdoor altars. Just as peace had been reached with the Hittites to the north, here in the Deep South it was also back for the foreseeable future.

  “Abu Simbel is henceforth the spiritual center of Nubia and the symbolic expression of the love uniting Pharaoh and the Great Royal Wife,” Ramses confided to Setau. “I want you, my friend, to call the tribal chiefs together here at regular intervals, involving them in the rites that make this place holy.”

  “In other words, you’re letting me stay in Nubia. Good. Lotus will stay in love with me.”

  The mild September night was followed by a week of feasting and ritual during which the awestruck participants were introduced to the great temple’s interior. In the hall of three naves and eight tall pillars backed by statues of the king as Osiris, they admired the scenes of the battle of Kadesh and the monarch’s encounter with the gods, their arms around him to infuse him with their energy.

  On the day of the autumnal equinox, Ramses and Nefertari alone entered the holy of holies. When the sun rose, its rays followed the axis of the temple to light the back of the sanctuary. On their stone bench sat the four gods: Ra-Horus from the land of light; Ramses’ ka; Amon the hidden god; and Ptah the builder. The latter remained in the shadows except at the two equinoxes. On those two mornings, the dawning light grazed it, and Ramses heard Ptah’s voice from deep within the rock: I am your brother, giving you stability and staying power. We are united in a joyful heart. I make it so that your thoughts are in tune with the gods’. I have chosen you; I give life to your words, I fill you full of life so that you may make others live.

  When the royal couple emerged from the great temple, Egyptians and Nubians alike gave shouts of glee. The time had come to dedicate the second temple, built for the queen and bearing the name “Nefertari for Whom the Sun Rises.”

  The Great Royal Wife made an offering of flowers to the goddess Hathor, to brighten the face of the mistress of the stars. Speaking as Sechat, the patroness of the House of Life, Nefertari addressed her husband:

  “You have restored vigor and courage to Egypt, you are her master. As the heavenly falcon, you have spread your wings above your people, to whom you appear as a wall of celestial metal that no hostile force can penetrate.”

  “For Nefertari,” came the king’s response, “I have built a temple, cut in the pure sandstone cliffs of Nubia, to stand forever.”

  The queen wore a long yellow dress, a turquoise necklace, and golden sandals. On her blue wig perched a crown of two long, thin horns enclosing a solar disk adorned with two tall plumes. In her right hand she held the key of life, in her left a flexible scepter representing the lotus rising from the waters on the world’s first morning.

  Topping the pillars in the queen’s temple were smiling faces of the goddess Hathor, and on the walls ritual scenes uniting Ramses, Nefertari, and the divinities.

  The queen leaned on her husband’s arm.

  “What’s happening, Nefertari?”

  “It will pass . . .”

  “Do you want us to stop the ceremony?”

  “No, I want to view each scene on the temple walls with you, read each of the inscriptions, take part in every offering . . . Isn’t this the dwelling place you’ve built for me?”

  His wife’s smile reassured the king. Following her wishes, they brought life to each iota of the temple, finally entering the naos where Hathor was carved from the rock in her guise as the celestial bovine.

  Nefertari lingered in the dimly lit sanctuary, as if the nourishing goddess could dispel the cold creeping through her veins.

  “I’d like to visit the coronation scene again,” she requested.

  Flanking the queen, whose delicate silhouette looked almost unreal in relief, were Isis and Hathor, magnetizing her crown. The stone carver had captured the moment at which an earthly woman became one with the world of the gods, testifying to its reality.

  “Take me in your arms, Ramses.”

  Nefertari was freezing.

  “I’m dying, Ramses, dying of exhaustion, but here in my temple, with you, so close to you that we form a single being, for all time.”

  The king held her tight, believing that he could help her cling to life, the life she had given so unstintingly to her loved ones and to her country, keeping them safe from evil.

  Ramses saw the queen’s calm, pure face grow still and her head slowly droop forward. Without struggle or fear, Nefertari had breathed her last.

  Ramses carried the Great Royal Wife in his arms, like a bridegroom carrying his bride over the threshold. He knew that Nefertari would become an imperishable star, born again in the sky, her true mother. He knew she would step into the boat that travels the heavens. But how could that knowledge ease the unbearable pain that tore at his heart?

  Ramses walked toward the temple entrance. Looking like a lost soul, he went out the door.

  Watcher, the old yellow dog, lay freshly dead between the paws of the lion that slowly licked his head, as if to make him better.

  Ramses was in too much pain to cry. All his power and might were of no help at all to him now.

  The Pharaoh lifted toward the sun the sublime body of the woman he would love for eternity, the Lady of Abu Simbel, Nefertari, for whom shone the light.

  *Modern-day Lebanon.