Ramses, Volume II

by Christian Jacq

  Ramses and Nefertari passed through it, entering a great open-air forecourt with huge columns lining the walls, a powerful expression of the ka. Between them stood colossal statues of the king, a testimony to his indomitable strength. Tenderly clinging to the giant’s legs was Nefertari, both frail and steadfast.

  Nebu, the high priest of Amon, slowly made his way toward the royal pair, his golden staff tapping in time.

  The old man bowed.

  “Majesty, here is the home of your ka, the endless source of energy for your reign.”

  The feast of the dedication of Luxor involved the entire population of Thebes and its environs, the humble as well as the grand. For ten days, there was singing and dancing in the streets; taverns and open-air drinking establishments were crammed. By the grace of Pharaoh, free beer filled every belly.

  The king and queen presided at a banquet recorded in the royal annals. Ramses proclaimed the temple to his ka completed, decreeing that no architectural feature would be added in the future. Still to be addressed was the decoration of the facade and forecourt walls. It was generally agreed that the young Pharaoh was wise to wait and decide on appropriate symbolic themes. The House of Life would provide him with expert advice.

  Ramses appreciated Bakhen’s attitude. The Fourth Prophet of Amon made no mention of his own contributions, but praised the architects who had designed Luxor with careful attention to the principles of harmony. When the feasting was over, the king presented the high priest of Amon with the Nubian gold, which would henceforth be shipped with stringent security measures.

  Before departing northward, the royal pair visited the site of the Eternal Temple. Bakhen’s competence was in evidence there as well. Graders, unskilled laborers, and stonecutters were hard at work. The Ramesseum was beginning to rise from the desert floor.

  “Hurry, Bakhen. I want the foundations laid as quickly as possible.”

  “The Luxor work gangs will start working here tomorrow. Then we’ll have full crews and enough skilled workers.”

  Ramses noted that his plan for the complex had been followed to the letter. He could already picture the chapels, the great hall with pillars, the offering tables, the laboratory, the library . . . millions of years would flow through the veins of stone.

  The king toured the holy site with Nefertari, describing his vision, as if he were already touching the carved walls and columns covered with hieroglyphs.

  “The Ramesseum will be your greatest monument.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Why do you doubt it?”

  “Because I hope to build temples all over the country, make hundreds of homes for the gods. I want my country drenched with their energy. I want the land of Egypt to be heaven on earth.”

  “What could surpass your Eternal Temple?”

  “In Nubia, I met an old friend. An elephant. He led me to an extraordinary place.”

  “Does it have a name?”

  “Abu Simbel. A stopping place for sailors, protected by Hathor, where the Nile is at its most beautiful, the river blends with the rock, the sandstone cliffs seem ripe to give birth to a temple.”

  “But so far south . . . Won’t the technical difficulties be overwhelming?”

  “We won’t let them overwhelm us.”

  “No pharaoh before you has attempted such a thing.”

  “True, but I’ll succeed. From the moment I first saw Abu Simbel, I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind. The elephant was a messenger from the gods, I’m sure of it. Abu stands for elephant, and as you know, the hieroglyph can also be read as ‘start’ or ‘beginning.’ A new start for Egypt, the beginning of her territory, must be there in the heart of Nubia, at Abu Simbel. It’s the only way to assure a lasting peace.”

  “It’s a wild idea.”

  “Of course it is! But also an expression of my ka—the fire within me captured forever in stone. Luxor, Pi-Ramses, Abu Simbel are each my desire and my brainchild. If I spent my time on day-to-day matters, I wouldn’t be acting like a pharaoh.”

  “My head rests on your shoulder and I feel secure in your love. But you can also rest on me, like a colossal statue on its pedestal.”

  “Do you approve of my new project?”

  “Think more about Abu Simbel. Let it grow inside you until your vision is dazzling and imperious. Then act upon it.”

  Within the enclosure of the Eternal Temple, Ramses and Nefertari felt a strange force move within them, making them invulnerable.

  Workshops, warehouses, barracks were ready to be occupied. The main thoroughfares led through residential neighborhoods and ended at the major temples, still under construction, but with each inner sanctum in usable condition.

  The brickmakers’ work was finished, and an army of landscapers and painters took their place, not to mention the decorative artists who would give Pi-Ramses its outward face. But would Ramses smile on it?

  Moses climbed to the roof of the palace and contemplated the city. Like Pharaoh, he had worked miracles. The men’s physical labor and his own careful organization had not been enough. The spark had come from enthusiasm, not human but divine in origin, the sign of God’s love for his creation. And Moses longed to offer this city to his God, not leave it to Amon, Set, and the like. Such an outpouring of talent wasted on those mute idols . . .

  His next city would be built to the glory of the One God, in his own country, on holy ground. If Ramses was truly his soul mate, he would understand.

  Moses pounded on the edge of the balcony.

  The King of Egypt would never tolerate a minority revolt, never let a descendant of Akhenaton take over the throne. To believe otherwise was, at best, an impossible dream.

  Below, near one of the side entries to the palace, stood Ofir.

  “May I speak to you?” called the sorcerer.

  “Come up.”

  Ofir had learned to blend in wherever he went. At Pi-Ramses he could pass for an architect coming to offer Moses valuable advice.

  “I’m giving up,” declared Moses. “No use trying to argue.”

  The sorcerer eyed him coolly. “Has something happened to change your mind?”

  “I’ve thought it over, that’s all. It’s a losing battle.”

  “I came to tell you that our ranks have been growing steadily. There are influential people who believe Lita should take the throne with the blessing of the One God. In that case, the Hebrews will be free.”

  “You mean to overthrow Ramses? Are you mad?”

  “Our convictions are firm.”

  “Do you think your sermons will sway the king?”

  “Who said we’ll stop at sermons?”

  Moses stared at Ofir as if he were meeting a stranger.

  “You can’t mean . . .”

  “Of course I can, Moses. You’ve reached the same conclusion I have, and that’s what bothers you. Akhenaton was defeated and persecuted only because he refused to use force against his enemies. No fight can be won without bloodshed. Ramses will never accommodate us or anyone else. We’ll have to fight him from within. And you will lead the Hebrews in their revolt.”

  “The dead will number in the hundreds, even thousands. Is carnage what you want?”

  “If you prepare your people, they’ll win, with God on their side.”

  “I won’t listen to another word. Be gone, Ofir.”

  “I can see you in Memphis as well as here.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  “There’s no other way, and you know it. Don’t try to ignore the voice inside you. We’ll fight the good fight together, and God will triumph.”

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Raia, the Syrian merchant, fingered his goatee. Business was booming. The quality of his preserved meats and Asian vases attracted an ever-growing clientele among the upper classes of Memphis and Thebes. The creation of the new capital, Pi-Ramses, meant yet another market would open up. Raia had already secured a permit to set up shop in the heart of the commercial district and was trainin
g the sales force to deal with demanding customers.

  Increasing his inventory, he had ordered a hundred precious vases, all new designs, from his Syrian sources. Each piece was unique and would be priced accordingly. Raia’s personal opinion was that Egyptian craftsmen did better work, but the buying public’s taste for the exotic (not to mention its rampant snobbery) was lining his pockets.

  Although the Hittites had ordered their agent to back Shaanar and oppose Ramses, after a single unsuccessful attempt on the king, Raia had given up trying. Pharaoh was too well protected and any further activity on the Syrian’s part might lead the investigators to him.

  Over the last three years, Ramses had proved as strong a ruler as his father, with the added energy of youth. He was like a raging torrent, sweeping all obstacles out of his way. No one had the authority to oppose him, even if the number of building projects he had undertaken was sheer madness. The court and the people were at once enthralled and subjugated.

  Raia checked his shipment. Among the new pieces were two alabaster vases.

  He shut the storeroom door, then listened at it. Satisfied that he was alone, he stuck his hand inside the vase with the small red check mark under the rim and pulled out a pine tag inscribed with the vase’s dimensions and origin.

  Raia knew the code by heart and easily worked out the message his contact in southern Syria had forwarded from the Hittites.

  Stunned, the secret agent destroyed the message and went running out of the shop.

  “Superb,” said Shaanar, admiring the blue swan-necked vase Raia had just unpacked for him. “The price?”

  “Rather high, I’m afraid, Your Highness. But it’s one of a kind.”

  “Let’s discuss it, shall we?”

  Gripping the vase to his chest, Raia followed Ramses’ older brother to one of his villa’s roofed terraces, where they could speak without fear of being overheard.

  “If I’m not mistaken, Raia, you’re following emergency procedure.”

  “Correct.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Our friends have decided to take action.”

  It was the news Shaanar had hoped for, but also dreaded. If he were Pharaoh, he would put Egyptian troops on high alert and shore up the border defenses. But Egypt’s most dangerous enemy was offering him a way to get back at his brother. He would have to use this vital secret to his sole advantage.

  “Could you be more specific, Raia?”

  “You look disturbed.”

  “Who wouldn’t be?”

  “It’s true, Your Highness. I’m still in shock myself. This decision will change the face of relations between Egypt and the Hittites.”

  “More than that will change, Raia. The fate of the whole world hangs on it. You and I will be major players in the drama that unfolds.”

  “But I’m only an agent.”

  “You’ll be my contact with the Hittites. A good part of my strategy depends on the accuracy of the information you provide.”

  “You make it sound so important.”

  “Do you hope to stay in Egypt, once we win?”

  “I’m at home here.”

  “You’ll be rich, Raia, very rich. I never forget a favor.”

  The merchant bowed. “Your humble servant, Sir Prince.”

  “Do you have any details?”

  “Not yet.”

  Shaanar took a few steps, leaned over the railing, and looked north.

  “This is a great day, Raia. One day we’ll tell ourselves it marked the beginning of the end of Ramses.”

  Ahsha’s Egyptian mistress was a marvel. Playful, inventive, insatiable, she had elicited new and subtle responses. A definite improvement over her pretty but boring predecessors, two Libyan girls and three Syrians. Ahsha demanded imagination in his lovemaking. That alone could release the unexpected melodies straining within the body. He was just getting around to sucking his lady love’s sweet little toes when he heard his steward hammering at the door, despite strict orders.

  Outraged, Ahsha flung the door open without thinking to cover himself.

  “Forgive me, sir. An urgent message from your office.”

  Ahsha consulted the wooden tablet. It was brief: “Report at once.”

  At two in the morning, the streets of Memphis were deserted. Ahsha’s horse quickly covered the distance between his residence and the State Department. Not stopping to make the customary offering to Thoth, Ahsha took the stairs four at a time and sped to his office. He found his secretary waiting.

  “I thought I should let you know immediately.”

  “About what?”

  “A dispatch from one of our agents in northern Syria.”

  “If it’s another false alarm, you’ll be in trouble.”

  The bottom of the papyrus scroll looked blank, but when heated with the flame of an oil lamp, hieratic characters appeared. This shorthand method of writing hieroglyphs sometimes made them almost unreadable. The hand of the Egyptian spy on their payroll in Syria was unmistakable.

  Ahsha read and reread the message.

  “Glad I sent for you?” asked the secretary.

  “Please leave.”

  Ahsha spread out a map and checked the information against it. If his calculations were correct, the worst was in store.

  “The sun isn’t even up,” grunted Shaanar, yawning.

  “Read this,” advised Ahsha, handing his chief the secret message.

  Shaanar’s eyes opened wide. “What? The Hittites have taken control of several villages in central Syria, well outside the zone of influence acceptable to Egypt . . .”

  “The message is definite.”

  “No casualties, it looks like. They could just be testing the limits.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time. But the Hittites have never gone so far south.”

  “What do you make of it?”

  “They’re preparing a full-fledged campaign in southern Syria.”

  “Is that a statement or a guess?”

  “A guess.”

  “How could we find out for sure?”

  “In light of the situation, I assume more messages will follow.”

  “Whatever the case, let’s keep this quiet as long as possible.”

  “We’re taking quite a risk.”

  “I know we are, Ahsha. But that’s what we have to do. We were trying to coax Ramses into a waiting game, but it seems the Hittites are restless. We’ll have to keep the Egyptian army off guard as long as we can.”

  “I’m not so sure,” objected Ahsha.

  “Why?”

  “Number one,” he ticked off. “That would only buy us a few more days, hardly enough time to stop a counteroffensive. Number two, my secretary knows I received an urgent message. Any delay in informing the king will look suspicious.”

  “Then having the inside track does us no good at all!”

  “Wrong, Shaanar. Ramses appointed me head of the Secret Service. He trusts me. In other words, he’ll believe what I tell him.”

  Shaanar smiled.

  “A very dangerous tactic. They say Ramses is a mind reader.”

  “A diplomat thinks in code. What I want you to do is communicate your concerns, once I’ve alerted him. That will make you look credible.”

  Shaanar settled into an armchair. “Damnably intelligent, Ahsha.”

  “I know Ramses. Underestimating his insight would be a fatal error.”

  “I agree. We’ll follow your scenario.”

  “Just one more problem: being sure of the Hittites’ real intentions.”

  Shaanar knew what those intentions were. But he judged it wiser not to reveal his sources to Ahsha, whom he might be forced to sacrifice to his Hittite friends as the situation evolved.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Moses shuttled from building to building, checking the walls and windows. He drove his chariot all the way across town, pressing the painters to hurry and finish their work. It was only a matter of days until Ramses and Nefertari arrive
d for the official dedication of Pi-Ramses.

  A thousand flaws jumped out at him, but how could they be fixed in so short a time? The brickmakers had agreed to lend a hand to the frantic workmen finishing the site. In the final rush, Moses’ popularity remained intact. His enthusiasm was catching, even more so as the dream was becoming reality.

  Despite his exhaustion, Moses spent long evenings with his Hebrew brethren, listening to their grievances and hopes. He had grown comfortable in his role as leader of an emerging people. His ideas frightened most of the men, yet they were drawn to his personality. When the grand adventure of Pi-Ramses was finished, would Moses be taking his fellow Hebrews in a new direction?

  Overtired, the young supervisor slept only fitfully. In his dreams, Ofir’s gaunt face loomed. Aton’s messenger had spoken the truth: when push came to shove, sermons and speeches would never be enough. They would have to act, and action often meant violence.

  Moses had fulfilled the mission Ramses had given him, acquitting himself of any obligation toward the King of Egypt. Yet he still owed loyalty to his oldest friend and vowed to warn him of the dangers facing him. Once his conscience was eased on that score, he would be free—completely free.

  According to the royal courier, the Pharaoh and his wife would arrive around noon the following day. The population of the surrounding towns and villages had flocked to the outskirts of the new capital so as not to miss the event. Overwhelmed, the security forces could not stop the crowds from spilling in.

  Moses was hoping to spend his last few hours as construction supervisor outside the city, strolling in the countryside. Just as he reached the edge of town, however, an architect ran up to him.

  “The statue is breaking loose! The giant statue!”

  “At the temple of Amon?”