by Max Overton
Seti's and Tausret's baby son Ramessu was never strong, crying often, and coming down with one ailment after the other. His limbs were thin and he had legs seemingly incapable of bearing his weight, for at eighteen months he still had not walked, collapsing in a weeping bundle whenever he was encouraged. Physicians swarmed around him likes bees around a honeypot, yet nothing they did, no concoction they could feed him, strengthened him. Priests of every god uttered unending prayers, to little avail, though some people hinted that it was only the prayers that were keeping him alive.
Tausret stayed by Ramessu's side, jealous even of the wet-nurses when they performed their vital function. The baby had difficulty keeping the milk down, throwing up his stomach contents and filling the nursery with cries of misery. Solid food gave a slight respite, with Tausret herself chewing up meat, bread and vegetables, and passing the moist paste directly into the baby's mouth. For a month, Ramessu seemed to flourish, but then he developed a rash and had difficulty keeping his food down. His father visited him whenever he could, returning from the law courts each day to dandle him on his knee, or try and interest him in a little toy chariot or kitten. He cried constantly, and by the time he neared the second anniversary of his birth, it was obvious Ramessu was weakening.
A fever swept over the city of Men-nefer and many fell sick, a few elderly people and many infants succumbing to the malady. The city seemed to be recovering when Ramessu started coughing, and his skin became inflamed and hot to the touch. He slid into a sleep from which he could not be awakened and a little later his breath fled from him. Tausret cried aloud, wailing her distress and clutched her child to her. Seti came running and knelt by the bed, tears streaming down his face as he held his wife and dead son.
Merenptah, almost unable to move from his own bed, gave orders for the palace and city to go into mourning. The palace women sent for river mud and plastered their faces and arms with it, loosened their girdles and bared their breasts, offering up keening cries of grief, filling the halls and chambers with sobbing. From there the grief spread out into the city, and the cries of the people were loud for they saw in Prince Seti the hope for the future, and recognised Lady Tausret as a woman worthy to be queen. The distress people showed for the death of the little prince was quite genuine and many offered up sacrifices in the temples for the safe journey of the little boy through the underworld.
The embalmers came to claim Ramessu, but Tausret screamed and would not let them take him. Seti, in an agony of grief himself, reasoned with his wife, and at last she reluctantly relinquished her hold on the tiny body.
"Ah, alas my lovely boy," she cried out as the embalmers lifted him gently onto a litter. "Silence has befallen you; you sleep now who once slept neither in night or day. Weary you are with life and must now journey to the West, taking my heart with you. You will lie in a dark house without doors, without windows, without a light to cheer you, without the cool breezes from the river. There you will lie in sleep forever, knowing neither day nor night. Alas, my child, my son, delight of my eye and my heart, you are no more in this waking world. Safe may your passage be to the Field of Reeds. May the gods keep you safe until the day when I too sleep in death and can join you in the world beneath. Farewell, my son. I love you."
The body of little Ramessu was taken to the Place of Beauty and there prepared for burial. His tiny body would not take long to prepare, and a fortune was spent on the costliest spices and resins, the finest weave of cloth, and many gold and jewelled amulets to keep him safe. Prince Ramessu would be buried in the tomb being prepared for Seti in the Great Field across the river from Waset, but as the tomb was unfinished, would reside in a room of the Place of Beauty until then. Seti and Tausret drew apart, seeking solace in each other's company and leaving the running of the northern kingdom in the able hands of Merysekhmet. The king stirred himself despite his aching joints and upset bowels, and took up the task of correspondence once more. Into his hands came a letter from Tjaty Neferronpet from Waset.
Merenptah read the letter, frowned, and read it again. "This is nonsense," he muttered, before screwing it up and tossing it aside.
* * *
Later in the day, a servant came to clean the room, dusting the furniture and sweeping the floor. He found the crumpled letter in a corner and straightened it out, staring in illiterate incomprehension at the writing. The quality of the paper was high, which anyone could see, so he folded it carefully and tucked it into his tunic, reasoning that he might be able to scrape the painted lettering from it and sell the paper.
At dinner that night, in the servant's quarters, the man took out the piece of paper and smoothed it out as he ate his bread and meat. The pictographs on the wrinkled letter were still indecipherable, but he started picking at the lettering with the tip of a copper knife, gently scraping the ink away. He finished one line and was starting on the next when another servant leaned over and watched his industriousness for a few moments.
"What are you doing, Hori?"
Hori looked up and rolled his eyes. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
"I can see that, but why?"
"Feel the paper." Hori waited while the other man rubbed it between forefinger and thumb. "See, that's good quality. If I can get rid of the writing I could sell it for a pot or two of beer...maybe even wine."
"What does it say?"
"How should I know?" Hori resumed his scraping.
"It might be important. Where did you get it?"
"In the king's throne room, all crumpled up and lying in a corner."
"Are you sure it was thrown out and not just mislaid? If the king finds out you've got an important letter you might be in trouble."
Hori shook his head. The other man shrugged and moved away, but Hori stopped scraping and sat looking at the scrap of paper. He grimaced, blew the ink dust from the letter and refolded it, putting it back in his tunic. When he and the other servants had finished their evening meal, he went in search of a palace official he had had some dealings with, Scribe Bay. He found him taking the evening air in the palace gardens.
The sun had set, though light still stained the western horizon, and flickering torches lent enough light to walk by. A lion uttered a coughing roar in the menagerie, and monkeys chattered as they found their places for the night. Perfume from lotus blooms hung in the still air and peafowl cried mournfully as they roosted in the trees by the palace wall. It was a peaceful scene, and Bay sat on a stone bench near an ornamental pond with his feet stretched out before him.
Bay looked up as gravel crunched beneath Hori's feet. For a moment, he could not place the man who confronted him, but then he nodded. "Hori, isn't it? Have you come to take the night air? I always find it calms me after a busy day."
"Good evening, sir. Forgive me; I did not mean to disturb your rest."
Bay waved a hand nonchalantly and gestured toward the bench. "Sit with me if you will. See, the first stars have appeared." Hori sat hesitantly, and fidgeted until Bay sighed and turned to him. "What is the matter? You have evidently not come out to enjoy the cool night air."
"No sir. Sorry sir. I...uh, I found something and...and I don't know if it's important."
"If you found something in the course of your duties as a cleaner, you should take it to your overseer...Pamont, isn't it?"
"Yes sir, only...only you've been good to me sir, on account of you being...you know, sir."
"A foreigner, you mean? And we foreigners must stick together?"
"Yes sir."
"What was it you found?"
"This sir." Hori took out the folded piece of paper and passed it to Scribe Bay.
Bay unfolded it and peered at it, holding it up to the light of a flickering torch, but could make out only a few pictographs. "There are some very faint lines here, as if someone has tried to remove them."
"That'd be me, sir. Sorry. I thought I could remove the writing and sell the paper."
"Where did you find it?"
"In the king
's throne room, sir, after the king had been reading his correspondence. I found it screwed up and thrown in a corner. I didn't think it was important, sir, otherwise I'd never have taken it."
"Did you read it, Hori?"
Hori laughed, a little nervously. "No sir. I can't read...well, not scribe stuff. I can make out a few words of the common tongue, but not that sir. No."
"Well, it's nothing important, Hori. I'd say it was the first draft of a letter from the king. I'd better return it and make sure he doesn't want it."
"Yes sir. Er, you won't have to tell him I tried to remove the writing, will you?"
"I will keep your name out of it."
"Thank you, sir. That's good of you." Hori got to his feet. "I'll bid you goodnight then, sir."
Bay nodded and slipped the folded letter into his purse. "You were right to come to me with it, Hori." He removed a thin copper bracelet from his wrist and handed it to Hori. "Take this as a token of thanks for your honesty in coming forward."
Hori grinned broadly. "Thank you, sir."
* * *
Bay waited until Hori had disappeared back into the palace, and then made his own way back, walking past the servant's quarters to the suites of rooms housing the court officials. He entered his room and closed the door, latching it securely, before seating himself beneath an oil lamp on a wall sconce. Unfolding the letter, he read it carefully, holding it at an angle to catch the light, highlighting the sentence that had been imperfectly scratched out.
"By all the gods," he muttered. "Why is the palace not in an uproar? The king must have read this, but why has he not acted?"
And what do I do? Messuwy is my patron, he is married to my sister Suterere and is father to my nephew Siptah. He could be king and his son after him, and that puts me in a very important position. I could find myself appointed Tjaty or even more. A hundred years ago, King Kheperkheperure Ay was uncle to another boy king and succeeded him to become king himself, why not me?
Bay found his heart was racing and his breaths were insufficient to sustain him. He got up and paced about in his small windowless room, breathing deeply. What do I do? he asked himself again. Messuwy sent me to the palace to spy for him, to keep him apprised of the king's actions, and I have done so. But what now? He means to foment rebellion, to topple the anointed king...Bay's mind shied away from the more permanent solution...and ascend the throne himself. Do I help him? If I do nothing, the rebellion may or may not succeed, he may or may not become king, I may or may not become brother to the king, I, a Syrian, a foreigner, a breath away from the throne of Kemet.
Bay unstoppered a flask of beer on the floor near his writing desk and took a long drink. What in fact can I do? I cannot fight for him; I cannot raise troops for him; I cannot give him gold to pay for mercenaries. All I can do is supply information as I have been doing. He belched and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. But why has the king done nothing? If I was king and I heard that my son was plotting to remove me, I'd dispatch the legions to imprison him at the very least...but nothing has happened. I'd have heard something, I'm sure of it.
He replaced the flask on the floor and stood in indecision. Does Messuwy have the means to succeed? He has the Amun legion, perhaps. Maybe the Kush legion. Is that enough? Would the people rise for him? Would that matter against trained soldiers? Who would oppose him? Baenre is too sick to take the field so it would have to be Seti. Can Seti win? Easily, if the legions are behind him. And what happens if Seti wins? Where do I stand as a relative of Messuwy? Would he trust me? In his position would I trust me? Bay grimaced, his mind working furiously. I must be seen to be a friend of both. But how? Messuwy is easy enough, he is family and I have been spying for him these several years. I just assure him of my loyalty, but what of Seti? What would convince him I was loyal...? The solution became obvious, but because it entailed treachery, Bay wanted to think upon it a bit more.
In the morning, he petitioned for an audience with Prince Seti. There was a wait as the Prince was busy with the affairs of the kingdoms and because Bay did not want to say exactly why he had requested the audience. Accordingly, it was after the lunch break before he was admitted, and even then it was in the presence of the Tjaty and several court officials and scribes.
"Scribe Bay," Tjaty Merysekhmet said. "What is the nature of your petition?"
Bay knelt on the stone floor and held out his arms in supplication to Seti on the throne of Kemet. "Great One of Kemet, Son of Baenre, hear my plea. I bring important news that I can only divulge in private."
"Concerning what, Scribe?" Merysekhmet asked.
Bay licked his lips and looked around at the interested faces of the courtiers. "I fear to say it out loud. May I whisper it to you, Tjaty Merysekhmet?"
Seti looked intrigued and nodded to the Tjaty, who bent close to the kneeling man. He straightened a moment later, strode over to the king and whispered in his turn.
"Clear the room," Seti ordered. "I will hear Scribe Bay alone. You may stay, Merysekhmet," he added, as the courtiers all bowed and started to file out of the audience room. The doors shut and Seti told Bay to arise. "Now tell me."
"Honoured one," Bay began, "a servant brought me a letter which outlines a plot against the king. It...it is from the Tjaty of the South, Neferronpet, and tells of treason plotted by Messuwy, the king's son."
Seti stared at Bay. "Heavy words, if true. Who is this servant that the Tjaty of the South should send him a letter?"
Bay licked his lips. "My Lord, it was sent to your father, the king."
"This is nonsense," Merysekhmet said. "If it was sent to the king, how is it that a servant has it? Did he steal it?"
"My Lord, he says he found it crumpled in a corner of the throne room and picked it up..."
"Does it even exist?" Merysekhmet went on. "This sounds like the babbling of a boastful man."
"He brought it to me..."
"Why you?" Seti asked.
"We have become friends, My Lord."
"So you have actually seen this letter?"
"Yes, My Lord. I have it here." Bay took the letter from his tunic and unfolded it, handing it to Merysekhmet. "Forgive the scratched out words, Noble Lord. My friend could not read it and did not understand its import. He thought to scratch out the writing and sell the paper."
Merysekhmet scanned the letter and handed it to Seti. "It looks like it could be genuine, King's Son. But if so..."
Seti read it slowly, pondering the words as he did so. "Has the king read this, do you think?"
"It is addressed to him," Merysekhmet said. "And if it was found in the throne room, he most likely has read it."
"Then why has he not taken action?" Seti looked at Bay. "You have read this?"
"Yes, King's Son."
"Messuwy's wife is your sister?"
"Yes, King's Son, and his son Siptah is my nephew."
"Why then did you bring me this letter? My brother is committing treason, but it would benefit you greatly if he should succeed."
Bay fell to his knees again. "King's Son, I am loyal to the king and you. I could not stand idly by and see my wife's husband rebel. I put myself, my sister and my nephew in your hands and beg for mercy."
"Your thoughts, Merysekhmet?"
"We must talk to your father, King's Son. If it is true, we must know what he intends. This could throw the kingdoms into chaos."
"And this one?" Seti gestured at Bay.
"It would seem Scribe Bay is loyal. Such actions should be rewarded."
"That was my thought. Do you desire gold, Bay?"
"King's Son, I would have my sister and nephew live."
"They are innocents and will be spared. You have my word on it. And for you?"
"Only to serve you, King's Son."
"Well said, Scribe Bay. You are my father's servant, but when I am king, I will make you Royal Butler."
Chapter Forty-Two
Setnakhte speaks:
I have been played false. At great pers
onal risk, I spoke to Neferronpet, Tjaty of the South, and told him of the words of Messuwy, of Roma-Rui, and of Khaemter, of their conspiracy to kill the king and claim the throne. Neferronpet said he would send word urgently to Men-nefer, a swift messenger to carry my words of warning. And what happened? Nothing.
Well, not quite nothing. I was dismissed from my post as commander of the Amun legion. I, the innocent one in all this. What has happened? Is Neferronpet on the side of the rebels? In that case, he might never have sent word to the king. But the orders to stand down came from the north, signed by Tjaty Merysekhmet, so something must have been said. It cannot be that I am being blamed for the plot; else soldiers would have come to arrest me. Instead, Troop Commander Merenkhons has been elevated, and he is a friend of Messuwy.
What is happening? I sit at home with my wife Tiy-merenese and little son Ramesses, and consider my position. It is not a good one. When I commanded the Amun legion, Messuwy and Roma-Rui needed me and fostered my friendship, taking me into their confidence, but now...now I am no longer useful to them, and indeed I am a danger. They do not know I have already told Neferronpet what I know. They might seek to silence me before I can speak, so I must flee with my wife and son. But where to? Where, in the kingdoms or out of them, is it safe?
A servant knocks on the door and enters. "Master," he says, "The Hem-netjer of Amun bids you attend upon him at sunset. What shall I tell the messenger?"
I look at my wife and a conversation passes in our gaze. She knows the peril we face as well as I. Little Ramesses looks up at the taut silence between us and starts to cry. Tiy-merenese picks him up and says to the servant, "Tell the messenger Legion Commander Setnakhte will be there."
The servant hesitates, knowing that is no longer my title, but then bows and leaves us.
"I cannot go," I say. "It is an excuse to get rid of me."
My wife nods. "We must leave the city immediately."
"And go where?"
"North," she says decisively. "Present yourself to the king."
