“Go ahead.”
“It’s nothing, really.”
How could Ahsha confess to the Empress of Hatti that of all the women he’d ever met, she was the only one he would have wanted as a wife? Telling her would be an unforgivable lapse in taste.
Ahsha studied Puduhepa intently, as if trying to engrave the memory of an unattainable face on his mind. Then he bowed.
“Don’t leave sad, Ahsha. I’ll do all I can to avoid the worst.”
“So will I, Your Highness.”
When the convoy began to move, Ahsha did not look back.
Setau felt wonderful. He crept from the bedchamber without waking Lotus, whose naked, inviting body never failed to stir him. He hesitated a moment, then made his way to the laboratory. The horned viper venom they’d gathered the previous night would have to be processed before the day was out. His work as administrator of a Nubian province did not mean that the old snake charmer had forgotten the tricks of his trade.
A servant girl carrying a tray froze in her tracks at the sight of him. This gruff-looking man, she knew, must be the magician who handled poisonous snakes without fear of being bitten.
“I’m hungry, child. Go find me some dried fish, milk, and fresh bread.”
Trembling, the servant girl obeyed. Setau went out into the garden and lay in the grass to soak up the smell of the earth. He ate hungrily; then, humming off-key, he headed back to the laboratory.
But he couldn’t find his working uniform anywhere. It was an antelope-skin tunic saturated with antidotes for snakebite. These products must be used with care, for the cure could prove worse than the bite itself. In his tunic, Setau was a walking medicine chest, able to cure any number of illnesses.
When he and Lotus began to make love, he’d let the tunic fall on a low seat. No, that couldn’t be right . . . it was in another room. Setau inspected the antechamber, a small hall with columns, the shower room, the privies.
He searched in vain.
There was one last place: the bedroom. Yes, of course. That must be where he’d left his precious tunic.
Lotus was waking up; Setau caressed her tenderly.
“Tell me, darling . . . where have you put my tunic?”
“I never touch it.”
Setau nervously combed the bedchamber, without success.
“It’s disappeared,” he concluded.
Serramanna hoped that this time Ramses would take him along to fight the Hittites. For years now, the former pirate had wanted to slit the throats of the Anatolian foe and tally the amputated hands of the dead. When the king had waged the famous battle of Kadesh, the giant Sard had been ordered to remain behind in Pi-Ramses and watch over the royal family. Since that time, he had trained enough men to provide adequate security in his absence. His only dream was marching off to war.
The Sard was somewhat surprised to have Setau burst into the barracks where he was training. The two men had not always been on the best of terms, yet they had come to a grudging agreement based on their mutual loyalty to Ramses.
The old pirate stopped hitting the wooden dummy he had been shattering with his bare fists.
“A problem, Setau?”
“My most precious possession has been stolen: my antelope-skin tunic.”
“Any suspects?”
“A jealous doctor, no doubt. And he won’t even know how to use it!”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I wish I could.”
“Someone must be playing a trick on you because you’re making such a reputation for yourself in Nubia. They’re not very fond of you at court.”
“We have to search the palace, the noblemen’s villas, the tradesmen’s workshops, the—”
“Calm down, Setau! I’ll put two men on the case, but with the army newly mobilized, finding your tunic can’t be a top priority.”
“Do you know how many people that tunic has saved?”
“I’ve heard about it, but wouldn’t it be better just to get hold of another one?”
“Easy for you to say. I was used to that one.”
“Please, Setau! Stop making such a fuss and come have a drink with me. Afterwards we’ll go see the best tanner in town. That’s the best I can do to save your skin!”
“This isn’t a joke, Serramanna. Help me find out who took it.”
Ramses read the latest report from Merenptah. It was clear and concise. His younger son was proving to be unusually lucid. When Ahsha returned from Hatti, the Pharaoh would attempt his final negotiations with Hattusili. But the emperor was no fool, and like the King of Egypt he would use the interim to prepare his army for combat.
The elite Egyptian troops were in better shape than Ramses might have supposed. It would be easy to hire experienced mercenaries and step up the pace of training for the new recruits. As for rearmament, extra shifts at the foundries meant that it would soon be complete. The officers that Merenptah had appointed with Ramses’ endorsement would form battalions able to overpower any Hittite force.
When Ramses took his place at the head of his army and led them north, the certainty of triumph would inspire his regiments.
It was a mistake for Hattusili to break the peace. Egypt would not only fight its hardest to survive, it would also take its enemies by surprise. This time Ramses would storm the fortress of Kadesh.
Yet the king was in the grip of an anxiety he rarely felt, as if uncertain how to proceed. Without Nefertari to light the way for him, the monarch must consult with one of the gods.
Ramses ordered Serramanna to prepare him a fast boat for Hermopolis in middle Egypt. Just as the sovereign set foot on the gangway, Iset the Fair arrived to plead with him.
“May I come with you?”
“No, I need to be alone.”
“Have you had news of Ahsha?”
“He’ll be back soon.”
“You know my feelings, Your Majesty. Give an order and I’ll obey it. Egypt’s happiness is more important than mine.”
“I’m grateful to you, Iset; but there can be no happiness if Egypt condones injustice.”
At the edge of the desert, near the necropolis where the high priests of the god Thoth were buried, grew an immense dum palm, much taller than its counterparts. Here, according to legend, Thoth appeared to his faithful, providing that they had kept themselves free from idle chatter. For those who knew how to keep their tongue, the god of language and patron of scribes was like a cool spring, yet this spring remained inaccessible to anyone who talked too much. Therefore the king stopped to meditate for a day and a night at the foot of the dum palm, to calm the churning waters of his thoughts.
At dawn, a loud cry greeted the returning sun.
Less than ten paces from Ramses stood a colossal ape, a dog-faced baboon with powerful jaws. The Pharaoh met his gaze.
“Open the way for me, Thoth, you who know the mysteries of heaven and earth. You revealed the law to gods and men, you put its power into words. Help me find the right path, the path that is best for Egypt.”
The huge baboon reared up on its hind legs. Taller than Ramses, it lifted its hands toward the sun in a sign of adoration. The king did the same, with his unique ability to stare at the sun without fear of being blinded.
The voice of Thoth sprang forth from the heavens, the dum palm, and the mouth of the baboon. Pharaoh heard and took it to heart.
SEVENTEEN
Rain had been falling for several days, and fog interfered with the Egyptian convoy’s progress. Ahsha admired the way the donkeys kept a steady pace despite the heavy loads and nasty weather. Egypt considered these animals to be one of the god Set’s incarnations, representing inexhaustible strength. Without donkeys, there could be no prosperity.
The secretary of state was eager to exit northern Syria, traverse Phoenicia, and enter the Egyptian protectorates. Usually he enjoyed traveling, but this time it was sheer drudgery. The scenery bored him, the mountains made him uneasy, the rivers were awash with foreboding.
&nb
sp; The military attaché in charge of the convoy was a veteran of Kadesh, a member of the auxiliary force that had come to Ramses’ aid as he battled the Hittites single-handed. The man knew Ahsha well and held him in high regard. The diplomat’s exploits as a secret agent and his knowledge of the terrain commanded respect. The secretary of state was also reputed to be a pleasant companion and a brilliant conversationalist, yet from the outset he’d been glum and silent.
At a rest stop by a sheepfold where men and beasts warmed themselves, the officer sat down beside Ahsha.
“Feeling ill, sir?”
“Just tired.”
“You’re bringing back bad news, aren’t you?”
“It could be better, but as long as Ramses is on the throne the situation will never be desperate.”
“I know about the Hittites. They’re bloodthirsty brutes at heart. A few years’ rest has only made them more eager to fight.”
“This time the problem is somewhat different: a woman. No ordinary woman, it’s true; we’re talking about the Great Royal Wife. Ramses is right; we must make no concessions where the fundamental values of our civilization are concerned.”
“That doesn’t sound very diplomatic!”
“I’m approaching retirement. I promised myself I’d resign when traveling got old for me. That time has come.”
“The king will never let you go.”
“I’m as determined as he is and I’ll negotiate to win. Finding someone to succeed me will be easier than he imagines. Not all the royal sons are merely courtiers; a few of them are top-notch civil servants. In my profession, when curiosity fades, it’s time to quit. Politics no longer interests me. My only desire is to sit in the shade of the palm trees and watch the Nile flow by.”
“Couldn’t it be a passing fatigue?” asked the officer.
“I’m just not interested in deal-making anymore. My decision is final.”
“This is my final mission, too. Then peace at last!”
“Where do you live?” inquired the diplomat.
“In a small town near Karnak. My mother is very old. I’ll be glad to help make her last years happy.”
“Are you married?”
“Never had time.”
“Neither did I,” said Ahsha wistfully.
“You’re young yet.”
“I’d rather wait until old age extinguishes my passion for women. Until then, I’ll bear my weakness as bravely as I can. Let’s hope that the gods will overlook it when it’s time for my soul to be judged.”
The old soldier lit a fire with flint and dry wood.
“We have some fine dried meat and pretty fair wine.”
“A cup of wine will do for me.”
“Are you losing your appetite, sir?”
“For some things. Perhaps that’s the first sign of wisdom?”
The rain had finally let up.
“We could go a bit farther today,” suggested Ahsha.
“The men and animals have had a rough time of it,” objected his companion. “Once they’re rested, we’ll pick up the pace.”
“I’ll go get some sleep myself,” said Ahsha, knowing that rest would elude him.
The convoy next crossed a green oak forest atop a steep, boulder-strewn crevasse. The winding trail was so narrow that they were forced to march single file. Clouds trooped across the restless sky.
A strange feeling haunted Ahsha, a feeling he was unable to name. He tried to banish it by dreaming about the banks of the Nile, the shady garden at the Pi-Ramses villa where he would while away his days, the dogs, cats, and monkeys that he’d finally have time to look after . . . but to no avail.
His right hand rested on the iron dagger Hattusili had given him as a double-edged gift to Ramses. If he hoped to make Ramses nervous, Hattusili was seriously misjudging the Pharaoh! Threat would have no effect on him. Ahsha felt like tossing the weapon into the river below, but he knew the dagger was only a symbol of the problem.
At one time, Ahsha had been in favor of trying to eliminate regional differences; now he thought exactly the opposite. Uniformity would only create monsters, faceless states in the grip of profit seekers pretending to advance the cause of humanity, the better to stifle initiative and maintain control.
Only Ramses was capable of keeping humanity on the straight and narrow, steering clear of stupidity and indolence and leading men toward the divine. If the world never produced a second Ramses, it would veer into a nightmare of chaos and fratricidal conflict.
How comforting Ahsha found it to leave the final decisions to Ramses! Pharaoh took his guidance from the great beyond. At one with God in the inner sanctum of the temple, he was also alone with his people, whom he must serve without a care for his personal glory. For several millennia, pharaonic rule had overcome all obstacles and faced all crises precisely because it was not of this world.
Once his days as roving ambassador were over, Ahsha would gather the ancient texts on the pharaoh’s twin nature, celestial and earthly, and present the collection to Ramses. They’d discuss it on balmy evenings beneath an arbor or sitting by a pond thick with lotus blossoms.
Ahsha had been lucky in life, very lucky. To be Ramses’ friend, to help him foil plots and repel the Hittites . . . what could have been more exalting? A hundred times Ahsha had been on the brink of despair, considering human baseness, treachery, and mediocrity; yet a hundred times Ramses had pulled him back, making the sun shine brightly once again.
A dead tree.
A tall tree, with a broad trunk and exposed roots, still appearing indestructible.
Ahsha smiled. This dead tree, was it not a source of life? Here birds took refuge, insects fed. It fully symbolized the mysterious interrelationship of all living things. What were the pharaohs, after all, if not immense trees, touching the heavens, offering food and protection to a whole people? Ramses would never die, for during his lifetime his kingship had taken him through the gates of the invisible world. A knowledge of the supernatural was what gave a king his earthly bearings.
Ahsha had spent little time in the temples. However, he had been close to Ramses, and by osmosis had been initiated into certain secrets that each pharaoh knew and kept. Perhaps Ramses’ secretary of state was already outgrowing his retirement, before it had even begun. Wouldn’t it be more exciting to leave the everyday world behind and live a cloistered life, to embark on the spiritual life as a new adventure?
The path grew steeper. Ahsha’s horse panted. One more pass and they would begin the descent toward Canaan, then start on the road to Egypt’s northeastern border. For a long time Ahsha had refused to believe he could ever be happy with a simple existence in the land where he was born, far from the hue and cry of public life. The morning they left Hattusa, snow had come early to the mountains of Anatolia, and he had spotted his first gray hair in the mirror—a clear signal that the old age he had dreaded was closing in.
Ahsha alone was aware of the toll he was paying for too many voyages, too many risks, too much danger. Neferet, the chief physician of the realm, would know how to soothe his pain and slow the aging process, but unlike Ramses, Ahsha could not use magical rites to renew his energy. The diplomat had worn himself out. His life span was nearing its end.
Suddenly came the terrifying scream of a mortally wounded man. Ahsha reined in his horse and turned around. From behind him rose other cries. Below there was fighting, and arrows whizzed from the treetops.
From both sides of the path sprang Libyans and Syrians armed with short swords and lances.
Half of the Egyptian contingent was exterminated within a few minutes. The survivors managed to kill a few of their attackers, but were sorely outnumbered.
“Run!” the officer in charge yelled to Ahsha. “Gallop straight ahead!”
Ahsha didn’t hesitate. Brandishing the iron dagger, he fell on a Libyan archer, easily identified by the twin plumes stuck in his black and green headband. With one broad stroke, the Egyptian slit his throat.
“W
atch out, watch . . .”
The veteran officer’s warning trailed off in a rattle. A heavy sword had just crushed his skull. Wielding the sword was a long-haired demon with reddish fleece on his chest.
In the same instant, an arrow hit Ahsha in the back. Unable to breathe, he slumped on the damp ground. All the fight had gone out of him.
The red-haired demon approached the wounded man.
“Uri-Teshoop . . .”
“Yes, Ahsha, I’ve finally paid you back. Those diplomatic tricks of yours were my downfall. And now that you’re out of the way, it will be Ramses’ turn! Ramses will think the coward Hattusili is the one responsible for this slaughter. What do you think of my plan?”
“That . . . the coward . . . it’s you.”
Uri-Teshoop grabbed the iron dagger and sank it in Ahsha’s heaving chest. Already the pillaging had begun. He’d have to take control or the Libyans would end up killing each other.
Ahsha knew that he didn’t have the strength to write Uri-Teshoop’s name with his blood. With his index finger, drawing on the last shred of his dying energy, he traced a single hieroglyph on his tunic, above his heart, then let his head drop.
Ramses would know what that lone hieroglyph meant.
EIGHTEEN
The palace was dead silent. Just back from Hermopolis, Ramses knew immediately that something serious had happened. The courtiers were conspicuously absent, government officials were lying low in their offices.
“Go find Ahmeni,” the king ordered Serramanna, “and meet me out on the terrace.”
From the highest point in the palace, Ramses contemplated the capital that Moses had helped him build. The white houses trimmed in turquoise slumbered beneath the palm trees. People strolled and chatted in the gardens by cooling ponds. Flagstaffs flew banners above the monumental gates, affirming the presence of the divine.
The god Thoth had asked the monarch to preserve the peace, no matter what sacrifices it demanded. In the labyrinth of ambitions, it was his responsibility to find a way around massacres and misery. By broadening the king’s heart, the god of knowledge had given him a new will. Ramses, the son of Ra, the divine light, was also the son of Thoth, who represented the sun at night.
Ramses, Volume V Page 9