Ramses, Volume II

by Christian Jacq

  “Following us, Moses?”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “I only had to inquire at the tavern. You’re a well-known figure, friend of the Pharaoh’s and all.”

  “And who might you be?”

  “First tell me why you were following us.”

  “An impulse, nothing more . . .”

  “That’s a feeble explanation.”

  “Perhaps, but it’s the truth.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Let me pass.”

  The man held out his hand.

  In front of Moses, the dusty street quaked. A horned viper slithered out, its tongue darting furiously.

  “A magic trick!” protested Moses.

  “Don’t let it near you. It’s real enough; I merely roused it.”

  The Hebrew turned around. Another snake was behind him.

  “If you value your life, come in with me.”

  The creaking door opened.

  In the narrow back street, there was no escaping the reptiles. Where was Setau when he needed him? Moses entered a room with a low ceiling and a packed dirt floor. The man followed and shut the door behind him.

  “Don’t try to run. The vipers will get you. When I decide it’s time, I’ll put them back to sleep.”

  “What do you want?”

  “To talk.”

  “I could flatten you with one punch.”

  The man smiled. “I wouldn’t try it if I were you.

  Remember what happened in the tavern?”

  The young blond woman was huddled in a corner of the room, a cloth covering her face.

  “Is she sick?”

  “She can’t stand the darkness. Once the sun comes up, she’ll feel better.”

  “Are you ever going to tell me what you expect of me?”

  “My name is Ofir, I was born in Libya, and I practice magic.”

  “In affiliation with which temple?”

  “None.”

  “You’re a renegade, then.”

  “My young companion and I live like outlaws, always on the run.”

  “What other offense have you committed?”

  “Not sharing the faith of the pharaohs.”

  Moses was dumbfounded. “I don’t understand . . .”

  “This fragile young woman is named Lita. She’s the granddaughter of Merit-Aton, one of the great Akhenaton’s six daughters. He’s been gone these fifty years, his royal city abandoned, his name expunged from the annals—all because he tried to make Egypt worship Aton as the One True God.”

  “None of his followers were persecuted!”

  “No, only forgotten, which is far worse. Ankhesenamon, his daughter and Tutankhamon’s widow, was unjustly sentenced to death. Then Horemheb and his impious successors gained control of the Two Lands. If there were any justice, Lita would be Queen of Egypt.”

  “You want to overthrow Ramses?”

  Ofir smiled once again. “I’m only an aging sorcerer, Lita is weak and despairing; the powerful Pharaoh of Egypt has nothing to fear from us. But there is one force that can topple him.”

  “What force is that?”

  “The True God, Moses, the One True God whose wrath will soon be felt by all those who fail to acknowledge Him!”

  Ofir’s deep, rumbling voice shook the walls of the hovel. Moses was filled with an uneasy mixture of dread and fascination.

  “You’re a Hebrew, Moses.”

  “I’m an Egyptian citizen.”

  “You and I are alike, both exiles. We’re looking for a purer land, untainted by crowds of gods. You’re a Hebrew, Moses, your people suffer, they wish to revive the faith of their fathers, affirm Akhenaton’s grand design.”

  “The Hebrews are happy in Egypt—they are well paid and well fed.”

  “Their material needs are being met, perhaps, but that’s no longer enough for them.”

  “If you’re so sure, why don’t you become their prophet?”

  “I’m only a Libyan, with neither your credibility nor your influence.”

  “You’re only a madman, Ofir! Turning the Hebrew community against Ramses would end in their utter ruin. They have no desire to rebel and leave the country. As for me, I’m the personal friend of a pharaoh with tremendous potential.”

  “A fire burns within you, Moses, the same as in the heart of Akhenaton. He still has followers. We’re beginning to find one another.”

  “So you and Lita aren’t alone?”

  “We have to be very careful, but our movement is growing day by day. Akhenaton’s way is the religion of the future.”

  “I doubt that Ramses would agree.”

  “You’re his friend, Moses. You can make him see the light.”

  “Have I seen it?”

  “The Hebrews will spread their belief in a single God throughout the known world, with you as their leader.”

  “Preposterous!” snorted Moses.

  “Just wait and see.”

  “I have no intention whatsoever of opposing the king.”

  “Let him stay out of our way, and no harm will come to him.”

  “Stop your raving and go back to Libya, Ofir.”

  “The new land I spoke of doesn’t exist yet. You’ll be its founder.”

  “Sorry. I have other plans.”

  “You believe in the One True God, do you not?”

  Moses was confused. “I don’t have to answer that.”

  “Don’t run away from your destiny.”

  Moses headed for the door. Ofir made no move to stop him. “The snakes have gone back underground,” the sorcerer declared.

  “Goodbye, Ofir.”

  “I’ll be seeing you, Moses.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Shortly before dawn, Bakhen left his priest’s cell, washed his shaved head and body, and put on a white kilt. Carrying a water jug, he walked to the sacred lake, where swallows circling overhead announced the new day. The broad lake, with stone steps at its four corners, contained the water of Nun, the watery chaos from which all life emerged. Bakhen drew off a bit of the precious liquid, which would be used in a variety of purification rites performed within the sanctuary.

  “Bakhen? We meet again.”

  The priest turned to the man who had greeted him, dressed as a simple “pure priest.”

  “Ramses . . .”

  “When I joined the army and you were my combat instructor, we fought. More or less to a draw, as I recall.”

  Bakhen bowed. “My past is no longer a part of me, Majesty. Today I belong to Karnak.”

  The former chief inspector of the royal stables and renowned cavalryman still had his rugged, square-jawed face, harsh voice, and forbidding manner; otherwise, he was very much the priest.

  “Does Karnak belong to the crown?” asked Ramses.

  “What kind of question is that?”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Bakhen, but I need to know whether you’re a friend or foe.”

  “Why would I oppose Pharaoh?”

  “The high priest of Amon is battling me, or didn’t you know?”

  “Power politics . . .”

  “Don’t skirt the issue, Bakhen. There isn’t room for two masters in this country.”

  The cavalry veteran was taken aback.

  “I’ve just finished my novitiate and I . . .”

  “If you’re my friend, Bakhen, you must join me in this fight.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Like every other temple in the land, Karnak should be an example of rectitude. If that were not the case, what would your reaction be?”

  “I’d haul in the wrongdoers and tan their hides, just like I did with my horses!”

  “That’s how you can help me, Bakhen. Bring me proof that no one here is disregarding the law of Ma’at.”

  Ramses left him, taking the path around the sacred lake as calmly as the other pure priests who had come to fill their vessels with holy water.

  Bakhen was unable to reach an immediate deci
sion. Karnak had become his home, his world. Still, he thought, doing Pharaoh’s bidding was the highest calling of all.

  In Thebes, the Syrian merchant Raia had acquired three fine market stalls in the center of town. Cooks from noble families bought his specialty meats, while their mistresses fought over his latest Asian vases.

  Since the end of the official mourning period, business had picked up again. Courteous, enjoying an excellent reputation, Raia had a faithful and growing clientele. He paid his employees well and praised them lavishly, so they always spoke highly of him.

  After seeing his barber out, the merchant stroked his newly trimmed goatee and set to work on his ledgers. His staff was instructed not to disturb him for any reason.

  Raia mopped his brow. The summer heat was hard on him. Even worse was the setback he had just suffered. The young Greek he hired had failed to break into Ramses’ office and report on which matters were receiving the new king’s attention. A predictable enough outcome; however, the Syrian’s main objective had been to test Ramses’ security. Unfortunately, his and Serramanna’s measures appeared highly effective. Obtaining accurate information would not be easy, although bribery was always a viable alternative.

  The merchant pressed an ear to his office door. He heard nothing in the antechamber; no one was spying on him. Just to be sure, he hopped on a stool and peered through a tiny hole in the partition.

  Reassured, he entered the storeroom full of small alabaster vases from southern Syria, an ally of Egypt’s. His ladies were especially fond of these, so Raia displayed only one at a time to whet their appetite. He searched for the one with a tiny red dot beneath the lip. Inside was an oblong fragment of wood with the vase’s dimensions and price marked on it.

  The code was easy to decipher, and the message from his Hittite employers was clear: oppose Ramses and back Shaanar.

  “Beautiful piece,” cooed Shaanar, stroking the vase that Raia was showing him, in full view of the upper-crust clientele that would never dare outbid the king’s older brother.

  “The work of an old craftsman who’ll take his secrets to the grave with him,” said Raia.

  “I can offer you six high-yielding dairy cows, an ebony bed, eight chairs, twenty pairs of sandals, and a bronze mirror.”

  The merchant bowed. “A most generous offer, Your Highness. Would you do me the honor of affixing your seal to my ledger?”

  Raia steered the prince toward his office, where they could conclude matters in private.

  “I have excellent news,” he said once the door was shut. “Our foreign friends are most receptive to your plan and would like to back you.”

  “Under what conditions?”

  “No conditions, no restrictions.”

  “It sounds too good to be true.”

  “We’ll discuss the details later. For the moment, we have an agreement in principle. Consider this an important victory. Congratulations, sir: I feel as if I’m talking with Egypt’s next pharaoh, no matter how long the road we may have to travel.”

  For Shaanar, it was a heady sensation. This secret alliance with the Hittites was as effective and dangerous as a deadly poison. He must determine how it could be used to destroy Ramses without harming himself or compromising Egypt’s strength. It was like walking a tightrope across a precipice. He knew he could do it.

  “What will you reply?” asked Raia.

  “Send my thanks and tell them I’m hard at work . . . as the newly appointed secretary of state.”

  “A cabinet post!” said Raia, clearly astonished.

  “Under close supervision.”

  “My friends and I will count on you to make the most of the situation.”

  “What your friends should do is make incursions into the weaker Egyptian protectorates, buy up princes and tribes Egypt thinks it controls, and spread as many false rumors as possible.”

  “For instance?”

  “Oh, imminent territorial conquests, total annexation of Syria, invasion of Lebanese ports, low morale among the Egyptian troops in the territories . . . We’ll heat up Ramses’ cool head.”

  “Allow me to express my admiration.”

  “I’m full of ideas, Raia. Your friends won’t regret their decision to work with me.”

  “Perhaps it’s forward of me to hope that my own recommendations may have played some part?”

  “On top of the official payment for the vase, there will be a sack of Nubian gold.”

  Shaanar returned to the front of the shop. A man of his rank would never linger in a merchant’s office, no matter how well known his penchant for exotic vases.

  Should he tell Ahsha about this secret alliance with Egypt’s major enemy? No, he quickly intuited. It was better if the right hand never knew what the left hand was doing.

  In the sultry shade of a sycamore, Queen Mother Tuya was chronicling her late husband’s reign, commemorating the essential dates in a blessed era of peace and prosperity for Egypt. Seti’s every thought, every deed was fresh in her mind. She had been attuned to his hopes and fears. She treasured the memory of the intimate moments when their souls had communed.

  In this slight, frail woman, Seti lived on.

  Watching Ramses come near her, Tuya saw the stamp of his father’s authority. The new pharaoh was all of a piece, without the inconsistencies that plague most men. Like an obelisk, he seemed able to withstand the strongest tempest. His youth and strength added to the impression of invulnerability.

  Ramses kissed his mother’s hands and sat down on her right.

  “You write all day long.”

  “Even all night. Would you forgive me if I left anything out? You look worried, son.”

  Tuya could always read his mood in a minute.

  “The high priest of Amon is challenging my authority.”

  “Seti saw it coming. Sooner or later, the clash was inevitable.”

  “What would my father have done?”

  “You know perfectly well. There’s only one possible course of action.”

  “Nefertari said as much.”

  “She’s the Queen of Egypt, and like every queen, guardian of the law of Ma’at.”

  “You don’t preach moderation?”

  “When the possibility of secession exists, there’s no room for compromise.”

  “Dismissing a high priest of Amon will have serious repercussions.”

  “Only one of you can rule the country. Which will it be?”

  TWENTY-THREE

  The donkeys followed their leader through the gates of the temple enclosure. The old one’s hooves knew every step from the weaving workshops to the temple storerooms. He held the others to a steady, dignified pace.

  It was a full shipment. Bakhen had been sent to help another priest with the receiving. Each length of linen, to be used for vestments, was supposed to be tagged with a number and entered in a ledger with a note on its origin and quality.

  “Good stuff,” said Bakhen’s co-worker, a foxy-faced little man. “Been here at Karnak long?”

  “A few months.”

  “You like the life here?”

  “It’s what I expected.”

  “What do you do on the outside?”

  “Nothing. I’m a full-fledged priest now.”

  “I serve two months at a time, then go back to town. Work as a ferry inspector, but not as hard as here! The pace is killing.”

  “Then why do you do it?”

  “That’s for me to know. Listen, I’ll pick out the first-quality material. You log the rest.”

  When each donkey was unloaded, warehouse workers carefully laid the linen on a cloth-covered sledge. Bakhen inspected it and made entries on a wooden writing board, including the date of delivery. It seemed to him that his fellow receiver was not as busy as he claimed. The greater part of his time was spent glancing furtively in all directions.

  “I’m thirsty,” he said. “Care for a drink?”

  “Gladly.”

  The foxy little lay priest left the
storeroom. He’d set his log on the back of the lead donkey, where Bakhen could see it. There were only scribbled approximations of hieroglyphs, nothing to do with shipments of first-quality linen.

  When the lay priest returned, his water skin full of cool liquid, Bakhen was already back at work.

  “Here, take some . . . making us work in this heat is inhuman, anyhow.”

  “I don’t hear the donkeys complaining.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Almost quitting time for you, isn’t it?”

  “I wish! The cloth still has to be routed for shelving.”

  “What do we do with our receiving logs?”

  “Give me yours, and I’ll turn it in with mine at the main office.”

  “Is that far from here?”

  “It’s a hike, but not too bad.”

  “You’re senior to me. Why not let me do the walking?”

  “Oh, no. They wouldn’t know you at the office.”

  “Then I ought to introduce myself.”

  “You don’t know the routine, and they don’t like wasting time.”

  “I’ll have to learn eventually.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but all the same, you’d better leave it to me.”

  The man seemed disconcerted. He moved away so that Bakhen couldn’t see what he was recording in his log.

  “Writer’s cramp?” Bakhen inquired.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Just one thing: do you even know how to write?”

  The lay priest turned indignantly toward Bakhen. “Why do you ask?”

  “I saw your log book there, on the donkey’s back.”

  “Nosy, aren’t you?”

  “Who wouldn’t be, with how little work you’ve been doing? If you want, I’ll fill out the log for you. Otherwise, you’re going to have trouble at the office.”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Bakhen.”

  “Is there something I’m missing?”

  “Oh, all right. You want me to cut you in. I can understand that, but still, your first day on the job?”

  “What’s the deal?”

  The foxy little man came closer and spoke in a confidential tone. “The temple is rich, the richest in Egypt. Priests are paid nothing. We have to manage. Karnak will never miss a length of linen here and there. Go for the quality, find regular customers, and you make out very well. See?”