Ramses, Volume III

by Christian Jacq

  “The Emperor of Hatti’s reputation sows fear wherever it reaches.”

  “In that regard, my brother Ramses has now surpassed me. I formed an invincible coalition and you defeated it. Surely the gods lent you their protection?”

  “Amon, the Father of Victories, seconded me with his power.”

  “I found it hard to believe that a mortal man could fight like that, pharaoh or not.”

  “You didn’t mind resorting to deception.”

  “It’s a weapon like any other. It would have beaten you, too, if you hadn’t had the benefit of supernatural powers. The soul of your father, Seti, fed your incredible courage and made you oblivious to fear and defeat.”

  “Are you ready to surrender, my brother Muwattali?”

  “Are you always so blunt, my brother Ramses?”

  “Thousands of men are dead because of Hatti’s expansionist politics. There’s no more time for idle conversation. Are you ready to surrender?”

  “Does my brother know who I am?”

  “The Emperor of Hatti, cornered in the mighty fortress of Kadesh.”

  “I have with me my brother, Hattusili, my son, Uri-Teshoop, my vassals and my allies. Our surrender would cripple the empire.”

  “Such are the consequences of your defeat.”

  “I concede that you won the battle of Kadesh, but the fortress is still intact.”

  “Sooner or later, it will fall.”

  “You saw how far you got with your initial attempts. Keep going and you’ll lose a great many men, without even putting a dent in the fortress walls.”

  “That’s why I’ve decided to adopt another strategy.”

  “Since it’s only the two of us, my brother, will you tell me your plans?”

  “Haven’t you guessed? It will require great patience. There are so many of you inside the fortress that soon you’ll be short of rations. Which makes more sense, surrendering or being starved out?”

  “My brother Ramses does not know the strength of this fortress. It has vast storerooms with months’ worth of food. We will also have certain advantages over the Egyptian army.”

  “Preposterous,” said the Pharaoh.

  “Think again, my brother. You Egyptians are far from your bases. Conditions will grow more difficult by the day. Everyone knows that you hate staying away from your country for very long and that Egypt likes to have you near at hand. Before long autumn will be here. The cold brings disease as well as discomfort. Your men will grow weary and disenchanted. You can be sure, my brother Ramses, that my allies and I will be better off than you. And don’t worry about us having enough water: the fort’s cisterns are full, not to mention the well we’ve dug inside the walls.”

  Ramses took a sip of water, not because he was thirsty, but to pause and think. Muwattali’s arguments were not without merit.

  “Would my brother care for a drink?” the Pharaoh offered.

  “No, I’m quite comfortable.”

  “You’re not afraid of poison, are you? I hear it’s common at the court in Hatti.”

  “Not any longer, though I do have my steward taste all my food for me. My brother Ramses should also know that one of his childhood friends, the young and brilliant diplomat Ahsha, was arrested in our capital while posing as a potter. As a spy, he’d be dead already if I hadn’t intervened. It occurred to me that you might be willing to bargain for someone so close to you.”

  “You’re wrong, Muwattali. I’m a pharaoh before I’m a man.”

  “Ahsha is not only your friend, but also the real head of your diplomatic service and your top Asia hand. Personal concerns aside, you might want to save a key adviser.”

  “What are you proposing?”

  “Isn’t an armistice, even a shaky one, preferable to a siege that would be disastrous for both of us?”

  “An armistice? Impossible.”

  “Think about it, my brother. I didn’t engage the entire Hittite army in this battle. Reinforcements will soon be on their way, and you’ll have new battles to wage at the same time you keep up the siege. Do you have enough men, enough weapons, to prevent the tide from turning against you?”

  “You lost the battle of Kadesh, Muwattali, and you dare ask me for a peace agreement?”

  “I’m prepared to acknowledge my defeat in an official document. Once it’s in your possession, you can lift the siege, and Kadesh will mark the limit of my empire. Never will my army march into Egypt.”

  FIFTY-SIX

  The door to Ahsha’s cell swung open.

  Self-possessed as he was, the young diplomat jumped. The two guards were ominously stern-faced. Since his incarceration, Ahsha had expected daily to be executed. The Hittites showed no mercy when it came to spies.

  An axe, a dagger, a forced jump off a cliff? The Egyptian hoped his death would be swift and brutal, not a long, drawn-out affair.

  Ahsha was escorted to a cold, austere room decorated with shields and lances. As always, in Hatti, war made its presence felt.

  “How are you feeling?” asked the priestess Puduhepa.

  “I need more exercise and I don’t like the food, but I’m still alive. Isn’t that a miracle?”

  “You might say so.”

  “I have the feeling that my luck is running out. However, I’m glad to see a woman here. Perhaps you won’t be so hard on me.”

  “Don’t count on special treatment from Hittite women.”

  “Have I lost my touch?”

  The priestess’s eyes blazed with fury. “Have you any idea how serious your situation is?”

  “Egyptian diplomats prefer to die smiling.”

  Ahsha thought again about how he had failed Ramses, not managing to get out of Hatti and warn him about the coalition ambush. The Pharaoh’s anger would pursue him even in the afterlife. Or had his farm wife gotten through with the three-word message? The chance was slim, but if she had delivered it, the quick-minded king would know what those three words meant.

  Without that intelligence, by now the Egyptian army would have been wiped out at Kadesh and Shaanar would have claimed the throne. All things considered, he was better off dead than dealing with such a despot.

  “You were never a traitor to Ramses,” said Puduhepa, “and Shaanar never gave you orders.”

  “You be the judge.”

  “The battle of Kadesh is over,” she revealed. “Ramses defeated the coalition troops.”

  Ahsha felt giddy. “Don’t make me laugh.”

  “I’m in no mood for joking.”

  “Defeated the coalition . . .” Ahsha repeated in a daze.

  “Our emperor is alive and free,” added the priestess, “and the fortress of Kadesh is intact.”

  The prisoner grew somber. “What will you do with me?”

  “I would gladly have you burnt at the stake as a spy, but you’ve become a pawn in the negotiations.”

  The Egyptian army was camped in front of the fortress. The walls of Kadesh remained gray, despite the warm June sun. Since the talks between Ramses and Muwattali, the Pharaoh’s soldiers had launched no new attack. From atop the ramparts, Uri-Teshoop and the Hittite archers observed their opponents engaged in nonaggressive occupations: caring for their animals, playing games, holding wrestling tournaments. Cooks from the various regiments prepared their best dishes, flinging insults at each other.

  Ramses had given his commanding officers only one order: to maintain discipline. None of them had been taken into his confidence about where matters stood with Muwattali.

  The new Set division commander took the risk of inquiring. “Your Majesty, your generals are at a loss.”

  “Even though we’ve won a resounding victory?”

  “We know that you alone won the day at Kadesh, Your Majesty. But why aren’t we attacking the fortress?”

  “Because we have no chance of taking it. We’d have to commit to losing at least half our troops, with no guarantee of success.”

  “How long do we have to sit here and stare at thi
s pile of rock?”

  “I reached an agreement with Muwattali.”

  “Do you mean a peace treaty?”

  “If certain conditions are fulfilled. If not, we’ll resume the hostilities.”

  “How soon will we know, Your Majesty?”

  “I gave them until the end of the week. By then I’ll find out what an emperor’s word is worth.”

  In the distance, on the road coming down from the north, was a cloud of dust. Several Hittite chariots were approaching Kadesh, chariots that might represent the vanguard of Muwattali’s reinforcements.

  Ramses put an end to the excitement buzzing through the Egyptian camp. Climbing into his chariot behind Victory in Thebes and the Goddess Mut Is Satisfied, the king called his lion to his side and rode out to meet the enemy detachment.

  The Hittite archers kept their hands on the reins. News of the Pharaoh’s rampage with Fighter had already spread throughout Hatti.

  A man climbed out of a chariot and walked with an easy grace toward the King of Egypt. He was slim, with a fine-boned face and a trim mustache.

  Suddenly Ahsha forgot his protocol and broke into a run. Ramses opened his arms and the two old friends embraced.

  “Was my message useful, Your Majesty?”

  “Yes and no. I didn’t know exactly what to expect, but the magic of destiny was on Egypt’s side. Thanks to you, I was able to act quickly. Still, the victory belongs to Amon.”

  “I thought I’d never see Egypt again. Hittite prisons are sinister. I tried to convince my inquisitors that I was in league with Shaanar, and that must have saved my life. Then things started moving too quickly. Dying in the Hittite capital would have been in the worst possible taste.”

  “We need to decide whether to sign a truce or pursue the hostilities. I could use your advice.”

  Inside his tent, Ramses showed Ahsha the document the Hittite emperor had sent him:

  I, Muwattali, am the faithful servant of Ramses, whom I recognize as the truly begotten Son of Light. My country is at your feet. But do not abuse your power!

  Your authority is absolute, as you proved in winning a victory against all odds. But why would you continue to exterminate your servant’s people, why would you act unjustly?

  Since you are victorious, concede that peace is better than war, and give the Hittites respite.

  “Quite the rhetoric,” commented Ahsha.

  “Do you think this text is explicit enough concerning the region as a whole?”

  “A masterpiece! A Hittite defeat is quite unprecedented, but for their emperor to admit his defeat is one more miracle we can attribute to you.”

  “I couldn’t lay my hands on Kadesh.”

  “The fortress doesn’t matter. You won a decisive battle. Muwattali the Invincible considers himself your vassal, at least in words. Taking Kadesh could hardly add to your acclaim.”

  Muwattali had kept his word, producing an acceptable admission of defeat and freeing Ahsha. Therefore, Ramses kept his, ordering the army to break camp and begin the long trek back to Egypt.

  Before leaving the site where so many of his countrymen had perished, Ramses looked back at the fortress. Muwattali, his brother, his son, would march away as free men. The Pharaoh had not destroyed the prime symbol of Hittite power, but after the humiliating defeat of the coalition, how much of that power remained? Muwattali, in writing, declared himself Ramses’ servant.

  He had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. Yet Ramses would never forget that only with the aid of his celestial father, on whom he had relied in his hour of need, had he turned a potential disaster into a triumph.

  “There’s not one Egyptian left on the level in front of the fortress,” declared the chief of the Kadesh lookouts.

  “Send the scouts to the south, east, and west,” Muwattali ordered his son, Uri-Teshoop. “Ramses may have learned his lesson and hidden his troops in the forest to attack us the minute we leave the fort.”

  “How long will he keep us running?”

  “We need to go back to Hattusa,” advised the emperor’s brother. “It’s time to rebuild our forces and reconsider our strategy.”

  “I’m not talking to a defeated general,” flared Uri-Teshoop, “I’m addressing the emperor of the Hittites.”

  “Calm down, my son,” soothed Muwattali. “I’m not ashamed of my performance at the head of the coalition army. All of us underestimated Ramses’ personal power.”

  “If you’d taken my advice, we would have won!”

  “You’re wrong. The Egyptians were very well armed, and their chariots were as good or better than our own. A frontal attack in the open would never have gone in our favor. Our losses would have been very heavy.”

  “So you’ll settle for a humiliating defeat . . .”

  “We’ve kept a key fortress, Hatti has not been invaded, and the war with Egypt will go on.”

  “How can it go on after you’ve signed that disgusting document?”

  “It wasn’t a peace treaty,” explained Hattusili, “but a simple letter from one reigning monarch to another. The fact that Ramses accepted it at face value shows a woeful lack of experience.”

  “It says in black and white that Muwattali considers himself Pharaoh’s vassal!”

  Hattusili smiled. “When vassals have the necessary troops, nothing prevents them from rebelling.”

  Uri-Teshoop looked his father straight in the eye. “Don’t listen to him, Father. He’s a fool. Just let me take charge of the army. Diplomacy and deceit will get us nowhere, but I’ll show you I can handle Ramses.”

  “Let’s go back to Hattusa,” the emperor said decisively. “The mountain air will help us think more clearly.”

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Springing high, Ramses plunged into the pool where Nefertari was bathing. The king swam underwater and grabbed his wife by the waist. Feigning surprise, she let him pull her under, and they rose to the surface in a slow embrace. Watcher, the yellow dog, ran barking around the pool, while Fighter dozed in the shade of a sycamore, a thin golden collar around his neck testifying to his valor in battle.

  Ramses could never look at Nefertari without falling under the spell of her beauty. Beyond the sensual attraction and bodily communion, a mysterious link united them, stronger than time and death. The mild autumnal sun speckled their faces as they glided through the blue-green water. When they emerged, Watcher stopped barking and licked their legs. The king’s old dog hated the pool and could never understand why his master seemed to enjoy getting wet. After he’d had his fill of petting, he cuddled up against the massive lion for a well-deserved nap.

  Nefertari was so desirable that Ramses’ hands grew bold. They stroked the young woman’s restful body as eagerly as an explorer discovering an unknown country. At first passive and happy to be seduced, she was soon aroused to a quest of her own desire.

  All over the country, Ramses had become Ramses the Great. Upon his return to the capital, a huge crowd had acclaimed the victor of Kadesh, the Pharaoh who had sent the Hittites running back into their own territory. This resounding victory was properly celebrated with several weeks of festivities, in town and village alike. Once the specter of imminent invasion receded, Egypt returned to its usual happy state, cheered even more by a bountiful inundation.

  Year Five of the reign of Seti’s son was closing with a triumph. The new military leadership was in awe of him and the court was captivated, bowing to his wishes. Ramses’ youth was nearly over. The twenty-eight-year-old Lord of the Two Lands recalled the achievements of his greatest predecessors and had already put his indelible stamp on his own era.

  Leaning on a cane, Homer walked out to meet Ramses.

  “I’m finished, Your Majesty.”

  “Would you like to take my arm and go for a stroll, or shall we sit down by your lemon tree?”

  “Let’s walk. My head and my hand have been working hard lately. Now my legs need a turn.”

  “This new poem has interrupted your work on the Ili
ad, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes, but what material you’ve given me!”

  “And what have you done with it?”

  “I’ve stuck to the truth, Your Majesty. I’ve put it all in—your army’s desertion, the appeal to your heavenly father, your single-handed fight. I found the story of your extraordinary victory so inspiring that I felt like a young poet writing his first ode! The verses brimmed on my lips, the scenes seemed to write themselves. Your friend Ahmeni helped me with the grammar. Egyptian isn’t an easy language, but its flexibility and precision make it a joy to work with.”

  “Your account of the battle of Kadesh will be engraved on the exterior south wall of the great hypostyle hall at Karnak,” Ramses revealed, “and on the exterior wall of the temple of Luxor’s courtyard and the facade of the monumental gateway, the outer walls of the temple at Abydos, and eventually in the forecourt of my Eternal Temple.”

  “Then the memory of the battle of Kadesh will be written forever in stone.”

  “My intention is to honor Amon, the hidden god, and the victory of order over chaos, the stability handed down in the law of Ma’at.”

  “You astound me, Your Majesty, and your country surprises me more every day. I didn’t believe that the law you so honor could help you overcome a determined foe.”

  “If it came to pass that Ma’at was not uppermost in my heart and mind, my kingship would be doomed, and Egypt would find another pharaoh to husband her.”

  Despite the huge quantities of food he consumed, Ahmeni stayed thin as a reed. Sickly-looking as ever, the king’s private secretary never left his office, plowing through an impressive number of documents with his select staff. He stayed in close contact with the vizier and the cabinet, making sure he knew everything that was happening in the country and at the same time checking on their performance. In his opinion, sound management practices could be summed up in one simple precept: the higher and more influential the office, the harsher the punishment in case of mistakes or oversights. From the head of the department on down, each supervisor was held responsible for his subordinates’ actions. Former top advisers and demoted government officials had learned the hard way that Ahmeni kept to the highest standard and never played favorites.