Ramses, Volume V

by Christian Jacq

  “Are you sure?” Setau asked Serramanna.

  “The fellow sailed south with a shipment of jars. The conclusion is obvious.”

  Ahmeni was fronting a gang of thieves. Ahmeni, who knew his way around the government better than anyone, was using that knowledge for his personal profit. And that might not be the worst of it . . .

  “Ahmeni took his time,” noted the Sard, “but he finally had to make contact with one of his men.”

  “I still don’t want to believe it.”

  “Sorry, Setau. Now I’ll have to tell Ramses what I’ve found out.”

  “Forget your grievances,” Emperor Hattusili wrote to the Pharaoh of Egypt. “Stay your sword arm; permit us to breathe. In truth, you are the son of the god Set! He promised you the land of the Hittites, and they will bring you all that you desire in tribute. Are they not at your feet?”

  Ramses showed the tablet to Ahmeni.

  “Read it yourself . . . a surprising change of tone!”

  “The peace faction must have won out, with Puduhepa leading the way. Your Majesty, all you need do now is write an official proposal for a Hittite princess to become Queen of Egypt.”

  “Compose a flattering letter and I’ll set my seal on it. Ahsha didn’t die in vain; this diplomatic coup will be his crowning achievement.”

  “I’ll run to my office and write you the letter.”

  “No, Ahmeni, do it here. Sit on my chair and use what’s left of the daylight.”

  “Me, sit in Pharaoh’s chair? Never!”

  “Afraid?”

  “Of course I am! Lightning has struck men for presuming less.”

  “Let’s go up on the roof terrace.”

  “But the letter . . .”

  “It can wait.”

  The view was spellbinding. Ramses’ capital, magnificent and tranquil, was settling down for the night.

  “The peace we so desire is right before our eyes, don’t you think, Ahmeni? We should savor it like a rare fruit, enjoying each precious moment. Yet men only seem to want to upset the balance, as if harmony were more than they can stand. Why, Ahmeni?”

  “I don’t know, Your Majesty,” he said in a faltering voice.

  “Haven’t you ever asked yourself the question?”

  “I’ve never had time. And I have Pharaoh to answer my questions.”

  “Serramanna spoke to me,” revealed Ramses.

  “What about?”

  “A visitor to your office.”

  Ahmeni seemed unperturbed. “Who would that be?”

  “Can’t you tell me?”

  The scribe reflected for a few seconds. “He must mean the barge captain who showed up unannounced and forced his way into my office. Certainly not the sort of person I usually see! He rambled on about dock workers and late shipments . . . I had to call a guard to get rid of him.”

  “Was that the first time you’d seen him?”

  “Yes, and the last! But why all these questions?”

  Ramses’ gaze became as penetrating as Set, the storm god’s. His eyes blazed, piercing the dusk.

  “Have you ever lied to me, Ahmeni?”

  “Never, Your Majesty. And I never will. I swear it on the life of Pharaoh!”

  For a few endless seconds, Ahmeni stopped breathing. He knew that Ramses was judging him and was about to hand down his verdict.

  “I trust you, Ahmeni.”

  “Why have they been watching me?”

  “You were accused of skimming goods from the temple warehouses so that you could amass a private fortune.”

  “What would I want with a fortune?”

  “We have work to do. Peace seems to be within our reach, but we still should convene a war council without delay.”

  Setau threw his arms around Ahmeni while Serramanna mumbled excuses.

  “What a relief, if Pharaoh pronounced you innocent!”

  “But you two thought I was guilty?” asked the scribe, wide-eyed, as Ramses stood quietly observing the scene.

  “I admit I believed the worst,” said Setau. “But I was only thinking of Ramses’ safety.”

  “In that case,” judged Ahmeni, “you did right. And if you ever have cause to doubt me again, do the same. Safeguarding Pharaoh is our most pressing duty.”

  “Someone tried to discredit Ahmeni in His Majesty’s eyes,” Serramanna pointed out. “Someone whose tidy little operation Setau broke up.”

  “I want to hear all about it,” Ahmeni said resolutely.

  Setau and Serramanna filled him in on the episode.

  “The real head of this fencing operation used my name,” concluded the scribe. “He lied to that barge captain who got on the wrong side of Setau’s snake. Someone planned to cast doubt on my integrity and my work. All it took was sending another barge captain to my office, and you were convinced of my guilt. With me out of the way, the administration would be in a state of flux.”

  Ramses suddenly came to life. “Slinging mud at my closest advisers is an insult to my country’s government. Someone is trying to undermine Egypt just as we’ve reached a turning point with Hatti. It’s not a simple case of thievery, even on a large scale. It’s a deeper corruption that has to be stopped at once.”

  “Let’s find that sailor who came to see me,” Ahmeni suggested.

  “I’ll get right on it,” said Serramanna. “The fellow will lead us straight to the ringleader.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can to help Serramanna,” proposed Setau. “I think I owe it to Ahmeni.”

  “Just watch your step,” cautioned Ramses. “I want the real head of the operation.”

  “What if it turns out to be Uri-Teshoop?” proposed the Sard. “If you ask me, he’s out for revenge.”

  “It can’t be,” objected Ahmeni. “He wouldn’t have the inside knowledge of how goods are distributed to the temples.”

  Could it be that Uri-Teshoop was trying to prevent Ramses’ marrying Hattusili’s daughter? It was one way to get back at the uncle who’d thrust him from power . . . The king considered the merits of his bodyguard’s theory.

  “It could be someone who’s in league with Uri-Teshoop,” insisted Serramanna.

  “Enough discussion,” Ramses said bluntly. “Let’s stop wasting time and get to the bottom of this. Ahmeni, I’m assigning you new offices in the palace annex.”

  “But why?”

  “Because you’re officially under investigation for corruption. We want our ringleader to believe that everything went as planned.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  A strong, icy wind buffeted the ramparts of Hattusa, the fortified capital city of the Hittite empire. On the high Anatolian plateau, fall had abruptly turned to winter. Torrential rains left the roads muddy and interrupted trade. Emperor Hattusili, feeling the cold, huddled by the fire sipping mulled wine.

  The letter he’d just received from Ramses had made him very glad. Never again would Hatti and Egypt be at war. Although a show of force was sometimes necessary, Hattusili preferred diplomacy. Hatti was an aging empire, suffering battle fatigue. Since Hattusili had reached an agreement with Ramses, the people had become accustomed to peace.

  Finally, Puduhepa was back. The empress had spent several hours in the Storm God’s temple, consulting the oracles. Majestic and striking, the high priestess was respected as a leader, even among the generals.

  “What news?” inquired Hattusili nervously.

  “Nothing good. The storms will only get worse, with the temperature dropping.”

  “Well, I have some wonderful news for you!” The emperor waved the papyrus from Pi-Ramses.

  “Has Ramses given his final consent?”

  “His daughter took the symbolic role of Great Royal Wife to help him through the regeneration rituals. Now that the jubilee is over, our dear brother the Pharaoh of Egypt has agreed to marry our daughter. A Hittite as Lady of the Two Lands . . . I never thought I’d see the day.”

  Puduhepa smiled. “It’s only because you backed down to Ramses
.”

  “On your advice, my dear . . . your sage advice. Words are of no importance; achieving our ultimate goal is all that matters.”

  “Unfortunately, the weather is against us.”

  “It’s bound to improve.”

  “The omens are dubious.”

  “If we delay sending our daughter, Ramses will think it’s a trick.”

  “What are we to do, Hattusili?”

  “Tell him the truth and request his help. Egyptian magic is second to none; we can use it to tame the elements and send our daughter on her way. Why don’t we sit down now and write to our dear brother?”

  His face stern and angular as ever, head shaved, and gait sometimes stiff from aching joints, Kha roamed the immense necropolis of Saqqara, where he felt more at ease than in the land of the living. As the high priest of Ptah, Ramses’ elder son rarely left the ancient city of Memphis. Yet the pyramids fascinated him, and he spent long hours contemplating the three stone giants on the Giza plateau—the pyramids built by Khufu, Khephren, and Menkauré. When the sun reached its zenith, their white limestone flanks reflected the light, illuminating the funerary temples, the gardens, and the desert. The pyramids represented the primordial stone emerging from the original ocean at the dawn of time; they were also petrified rays of sunshine containing changeless energy. And Kha had plumbed one of their truths: each pyramid was a letter in the great book of wisdom that he was seeking in the country’s archives.

  Yet something was troubling the high priest of Memphis. Near the Pharaoh Djoser’s great architectural complex, dominated by the step pyramid, stood the pyramid of Wenis, badly in need of restoration. Dating from the end of the Fifth Dynasty and already more than a thousand years old, the venerable monument had suffered serious wounds. Several ornamental blocks must soon be replaced.

  Here, in Saqqara, High Priest Kha communed with the souls of the ancestors. Lingering in the chapels of their eternal dwellings, he deciphered the columns of hieroglyphs that dealt with the afterlife and the happy destiny of those who possessed a “just voice,” having lived a life according to the law of Ma’at. In the act of reading these inscriptions, Kha restored life to the tombs’ occupants, who remained present on a silent plane.

  The high priest of Ptah was walking the perimeter of Wenis’s pyramid when he spied his father coming toward him. It struck him that Ramses resembled one of those luminous spirits that appeared to clairvoyants at certain hours of the day.

  “What are your plans here, Kha?”

  “In the short term, stepping up restoration on the Old Kingdom pyramids most in need of repair.”

  “Have you found the Book of Thoth?”

  “Only hints of it . . . but I won’t give up. There are so many treasures in Saqqara that I’ll need a long life to study them.”

  “You’re only thirty-eight; they say the sage Ptah-hotep waited until the age of a hundred and ten before writing his Maxims!”

  “In this holy place, Father, eternity has fed on human time and transformed it into living stone. These chapels, these hieroglyphs, these entities that venerate the secret of life . . . is this not the best our civilization has to offer?”

  “Do your thoughts ever turn to affairs of state, my son?”

  “Why should they, when you’re here to reign?”

  “The years are passing, Kha, and one day I too will go to the land that loves silence.”

  “Your Majesty’s ka has just been regenerated, and I plan to do even better for your next sed-feast three years hence.”

  “You know nothing about the government, the economy, the army . . .”

  “I have no taste for such subjects. The strict observance of ritual is the true foundation of our society, don’t you agree? Our people’s happiness depends on it, and with each passing day I intend to devote myself more fully to my religious duties. Do you think I’m heading in the wrong direction?”

  Ramses raised his eyes to the top of Wenis’s pyramid.

  “Seeking the highest, the most vital, is always the right direction. But Pharaoh must also descend into the underworld and confront the monster that tries to dry up the Nile and destroy the bark of light. Without Pharaoh waging this daily battle, what rites would we have left to celebrate?”

  Kha stroked the ancient stone, as if it nourished his thoughts.

  “How best, then, can I serve Pharaoh?”

  “The Emperor of Hatti wishes to send his daughter to Egypt as my bride. In their part of the world, the weather has made it impossible for the delegation to leave. Hattusili requests that our magicians incite the gods to improve conditions. What you can do is find me the text that will let us do precisely that.”

  The barge captain, Rarek, had found a hideout where no one would ever track him. Following his performance at the palace, spouting gibberish at some pale-faced scribe, Rarek had taken up residence in Pi-Ramses’ Asian quarter. It was what the man who hired him had advised. Somewhat inconvenient, but still, the job paid well, better than three months’ sailing on the Nile. Rarek had reported back to his boss, who seemed more than satisfied. Everything had gone as planned, it seemed. The only drawback was that now the boss wanted Rarek to shave. He was proud of his manly beard, and tried to protest, but since his personal safety was at stake, he relented. Clean-shaven and under another name, he soon would sail south once more and remain out of sight.

  Rarek spent his days sleeping on the upper floor of a small white house. His landlady roused him when the water bearer came by. She also brought him the onion- and garlic-filled pastries that were his favorite food.

  “The barber’s out in the square,” she announced on this morning.

  The sailor yawned. Without his beard he might have trouble attracting women. Fortunately he still had other masculine attributes that were just as convincing.

  Rarek looked out the window.

  In the little square below, the barber had pounded in four stakes that held an awning to protect his customers from the sun. Beneath the shelter he set two stools, a taller one for himself, a shorter one for his client.

  With ten or so men already in line, the wait would be long. Three of them were playing dice, the others dozing against a house front. Rarek decided to take a nap.

  His landlady shook him.

  “You’d better get down there! You’ll be the last.”

  This time there was no escaping. Bleary-eyed, he went downstairs and out of the little house to take his place on the three-legged stool that groaned beneath his weight.

  “What will it be?” asked the barber.

  “Take the whole thing off.”

  “Why would you want to shave such a beautiful beard?”

  “None of your business.”

  “It’s your call, friend. How are you paying?”

  “With a pair of sandals and a papyrus scroll.”

  “It’s a big job . . .”

  “If you don’t want it, I’ll go somewhere else.”

  “All right, all right . . .”

  The barber moistened Rarek’s skin with soapy water and tested the razor’s sharpness on his left cheek. Swiftly and suddenly, he held the blade to the sailor’s neck.

  “If you try to run, if you lie, Rarek, I’ll slit your throat.”

  “Who . . . who are you?”

  Setau let the razor slice the skin, dripping blood on the sailor’s chest.

  “Someone who’ll kill you unless you talk.”

  “Ask me anything!”

  “Ever meet a barge captain with brown eyes and a deep scar on his left forearm?”

  “Yes . . .”

  “Do you know Dame Cheris?”

  “I’ve worked for her.”

  “Fencing stolen goods?”

  “We’ve done business.”

  “Who’s your boss?”

  “His name is Ahmeni.”

  “You’re going to take me to him.”

  THIRTY

  A slight smile lighting his grave face, Kha appeared before Ram
ses, seated at his desk.

  “I spent three days and three nights in the library at the House of Life in Heliopolis, Your Majesty, and I found the book of spells that will stop the bad weather over Hatti. The goddess Sekhmet’s messengers have caused disturbances in the atmosphere to keep the sun from piercing the clouds.”

  “What’s the procedure?”

  “Reciting litanies nonstop until they have an effect on Sekhmet. Once she calls her emissaries back from the north, the skies will clear. Her priests and priestesses are already at work. The vibration from the chanting and the invisible effect of the rituals should bring a rapid resolution.”

  Kha withdrew just as Merenptah came running in. The two brothers greeted each other warmly.

  The king observed his sons, so different yet so complementary. In his own way, Ramses mused, Kha had acted just like a statesman. He was high-minded enough to govern, while Merenptah had the strength necessary to command. As for their half sister, she would be back in Thebes by now, leading prayers that gave life to the royal statues in Seti’s funerary temple as well as the Ramesseum.

  The Pharaoh thanked the gods for giving him three exceptional children. In their own way, each of them transmitted the spirit of Egyptian civilization and attached more importance to values than to personal interest. Their mothers, Nefertari and Iset the Fair, could rest in peace.

  Merenptah bowed to Pharaoh.

  “You called for me, Majesty?”

  “Hattusili and Puduhepa’s daughter is preparing to leave the Hittite capital for Pi-Ramses. Upon our diplomatic marriage, she will become Great Royal Wife, and this union will set the final seal upon our peace agreement with Hatti. The treaty may not sit well with certain interest groups. Your mission will therefore be providing security for the princess once she leaves Hittite territory and enters our protectorates.”

  “You can rely on me. How many men will I be able to take?”

  “As many as you need.”

  “An army would be useless, too slow and unwieldy. I’ll assemble a force of a hundred veteran soldiers, well armed and familiar with the territory, plus several couriers with the fastest available horses. In case of attack, we’ll be well prepared, and I’ll send regular dispatches back to Your Majesty. If one of the couriers is late, the nearest fortress will send help at once.”