Ramses, Volume III

by Christian Jacq

  “The Prince of Amurru has betrayed us once again.”

  “Benteshina sells to the highest bidder. But I’ll make sure this province never falls under Egypt’s control again.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting the wrath of Ramses?”

  “Oh, I fear it. I’m taking care not to provoke him.”

  “As soon as he learns that Hittite forces have occupied Amurru, he’ll strike back. I’m certain you haven’t had time to rebuild an army strong enough to resist him.”

  Hattusili smiled. “An expert analysis, but it will be of no use to Ramses. He won’t learn the truth until it’s much too late.”

  “My silence will speak volumes.”

  “There will be no silence, Ahsha, because you’re going to write Ramses a reassuring letter, telling him your mission is going as planned and your officers are under way with the training.”

  “In other words, our army will march blindly into your trap.”

  “Yes, that’s one part of my plan.”

  And the rest? Ahsha tried to read Hattusili’s thoughts. He considered the people of the region, their good and bad qualities, their aspirations and frustrations. The answer struck him.

  “Let me guess—the Bedouins!” Ahsha said with a sneer.

  “It’s worked before, and it will work again.”

  “They’re cutthroats and pillagers.”

  “Unfortunately true. But they’ll help me stir up trouble with Egypt’s allies.”

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t share all my secrets.”

  “Soon they won’t be secrets; they’ll be facts. Get dressed, Ahsha, and come with me. I want you to take down my letter.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “You’ll die.”

  “I’m prepared for death.”

  “No, you’re not. A man who enjoys making love as much as you do would rather keep living. I doubt you’re prepared to give up your pleasures for a lost cause. You’ll write the letter.”

  Ahsha hesitated. “And if I do?”

  “We’ll try to keep you comfortable in prison. You’ll survive.”

  “Why not do away with me?”

  “You may be instrumental if it ever comes to negotiations. You were a valuable bargaining chip at Kadesh, don’t you agree?”

  “You’re asking me to betray Ramses.”

  “It isn’t really treason. You’re being coerced.”

  “You’ll spare my life . . . it sounds too good to be true.”

  “By all the gods of Hatti, I give my word in the name of the emperor.”

  “Give me the pen, Hattusili.”

  SIXTY

  The seven daughters of the old priest of Midian, among them the wife of Moses, were drawing water from a well and filling troughs for their father’s sheep when a small band of Bedouins on horseback burst into the oasis. Bearded, armed with bows and daggers, their appearance promised nothing good.

  The sheep scattered, the womenfolk dove inside their tents, and the old man leaned on his cane to face the intruders.

  “Are you in charge?”

  “I am.”

  “How many able-bodied men do you have here?”

  “Just me and a shepherd.”

  “Canaan is going to revolt against Pharaoh, with the help of the Hittites. Thanks to them, this land will be ours. Every tribe must aid in the fight against Egypt.”

  “We’re not a tribe, just a family living quietly in these parts for several generations.”

  “Show us your shepherd.”

  “He’s up on the mountain.”

  The Bedouins conferred.

  “We’ll come back,” said their spokesman. “On that day, we’re taking your shepherd to fight with us. If he won’t, we’ll fill in your well and burn your tents.”

  Moses came back to his tent at nightfall. His wife and father-in-law leapt to their feet.

  “Where were you?” she asked.

  “On the holy mountain, where the God of our fathers reveals his presence. He spoke of the misery of Hebrews living in Egypt—my people oppressed by Pharaoh, my brothers lamenting their fate and longing for freedom.”

  “There’s even worse news from here,” the old priest of Midian told him. “Some Bedouins rode in today, saying that Canaan is going to break away from Egypt. They’re drafting every able-bodied man they can find, and they say they’ll be back for you.”

  “What a farce! Ramses will put down the rebellion in a minute.”

  “Even if the Hittites are behind the rebels?”

  “The Hittites lost at Kadesh.”

  “That’s what the caravan merchants told us,” the priest agreed, “but can they be trusted? You have to hide, Moses.”

  “Did the Bedouins threaten you?”

  “If you won’t fight with them, they’ll slaughter us.”

  The woman Zipporah clung to Moses. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  “God has ordered me to return to Egypt.”

  “You’ll be tried and convicted!” the old man reminded him.

  “I’ll go with you,” Zipporah said firmly, “and we’ll bring our son.”

  “It may be a dangerous journey.”

  “I don’t care. You’re my husband, and I’m your wife.”

  The old priest sat down again, overcome.

  “Don’t worry,” Moses told him. “God will watch over your oasis. The Bedouins won’t return.”

  “What does that matter, when I’ll never see the three of you again?”

  “True, Father. Come bid us goodbye and ask the Lord’s blessing on us.”

  In Pi-Ramses, the temples were preparing for the midwinter feasts, which included the reconsecration of statues and liturgical objects. The royal couple, their forces depleted, would commune with the light to draw on its holy energy and make offerings to Ma’at, who held the universe together in harmony.

  The victory at Kadesh had reassured the Egyptian people. They no longer viewed the Hittites as invincible, and they knew that Ramses could handle any enemy. The peace they so loved would be preserved.

  The capital looked better than ever. Stone carvers were embellishing the four main temples, dedicated to Amon, Ptah, Ra, and Set. The noble mansions and villas were as fine as any in Thebes or Memphis. The port was bustling, the warehouses bulging with goods. The tile factory still turned out the blue faience that, found on almost every building, had earned Pi-Ramses its nickname, the Turquoise City.

  One of the residents’ favorite leisure activities was floating along the canals in fishing boats. Snacking on honey-sweet apples from local orchards, they drifted with the current, admiring flowering gardens on the banks, watching the ibises, flamingos, and pelicans, and often failing to notice that a fish was nibbling.

  In his own small craft, Ramses was rowing his daughter, Meritamon, and son, Kha. The boy had told his sister all about his encounter with the cobra, speaking soberly, without exaggeration. After this brief interval of relaxation, Ramses would rejoin Nefertari and Iset the Fair, whom the Great Royal Wife had invited to dine with them.

  At the landing, he found Ahmeni. For the scribe to leave his office, something serious had to happen.

  “A letter from Ahsha.”

  “Problems?”

  “See for yourself.”

  Ramses handed Kha and Meritamon over to Nedjem, who worried about outings in boats or even walks outside the palace gardens. The secretary of agriculture put a protective arm around each of the children as Ramses unrolled the papyrus Ahmeni proffered.

  To the Pharaoh of Egypt, from Ahsha, Secretary of State,

  In accordance with Your Majesty’s orders, I met with the Prince of Amurru, Benteshina, who extended the warmest welcome to me as well as our military contingent. The training officers, headed by a royal scribe who is one of our fellow alumni from the University of Thebes, have begun recruiting a Lebanese unit. As we assumed, the Hittites have retreated farther north after their defeat at Kadesh. Nevertheless, we must not relax our vigilance.
The local forces will not be up to the challenge if an invasion is forthcoming. I therefore deem it necessary for you to dispatch a well-armed regiment to Amurru, to establish a defensive base that can safeguard our country and assure its lasting peace.

  May this letter find the Pharaoh in excellent health, as always.

  The king rolled up the document.

  “It’s Ahsha’s handwriting.”

  “I agree, but . . .”

  “If Ahsha wrote this letter, he was coerced.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Ahmeni said approvingly. “He never would have said that he studied with you in Thebes.”

  “Of course not, since we met at the royal academy in Memphis. There’s nothing wrong with Ahsha’s memory.”

  “Why did he put that in?”

  “To show he’s being held captive in Amurru.”

  “Has Benteshina gone mad?”

  “No, I’m sure he was pressured, too, no doubt because he’s sold his allegiance once more.”

  “Does that mean . . .”

  “The Hittites have wasted no time,” said Ramses. “They’ve taken back Amurru and set another trap for us. If Ahsha wasn’t so clever, Muwattali would have had his revenge.”

  “Do you think Ahsha’s still alive?”

  “I have no idea, my friend. With Serramanna’s help, I’ll put together a strike force. If our friend is a prisoner, we’ll get him out.”

  When Pharaoh gave the foundry foreman the order to resume arms production at full capacity, the news spread through the capital within hours and throughout the country in days.

  Why hide from the facts? Kadesh had not been enough to break the Hittites’ will to conquer. The four huge bases in Pi-Ramses were put on alert, and the soldiers realized they would soon be marching north to fight again.

  Ramses spent one whole day and one whole night alone in his office. At daybreak, he went out on the palace roof to gaze at his heavenly counterpart, reborn after the nightly combat with the forces of evil.

  At the eastern edge of the terrace stood Nefertari, pure and beautiful in the rosy blush of dawn.

  Ramses held her close.

  “I thought that Kadesh would open an era of peace, but I hoped for too much. Shadows are lurking all around us: Muwattali, Shaanar if he’s still alive, the Libyan sorcerer who got away, my long-lost friend Moses, Ahsha stranded in Amurru, held captive or worse. Will we be able to weather the storm, Nefertari?”

  “Your role is to hold the ship on course, no matter how strong the wind. You have neither the time nor the right to doubt. If the current is against you, you’ll sail into it. The two of us will sail forward.”

  Breaking over the horizon, the first rays of sunlight shone upon the Great Royal Wife and Ramses, the Son of Light.

  *The site of modern-day Lebanon.

  †Canaan included Palestine and Phoenicia.

  *Ramses, Volume II: The Eternal Temple.