Ramses, Volume IV

by Christian Jacq

  “I hinted that his case wasn’t hopeless.”

  “Why not come right out with it?”

  “Because no one can predict the outcome of a trial, not even you.”

  “But he has a legitimate defense!”

  “Moses killed a man, Ramses. What’s more, that man was your sister Dolora’s husband.”

  “I’ll personally testify what I thought of the wretch.”

  “No, Your Majesty. As Ma’at’s representative on earth, Pharaoh must remain impartial and exert no influence over any judicial proceeding.”

  “Do you think I don’t know that?”

  “Would I be your friend if I didn’t help you restrain your nature?”

  “You have a hard job, Ahmeni.”

  “And I’m hardheaded enough to do it.”

  “Moses returned to Egypt of his own free will. That must be a point in his favor.”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t excuse what he’s done.”

  “Must you argue against him?”

  “Moses is my friend, too. I plan to present our case in his defense. But will it convince the vizier and the judges?”

  “Moses was always popular with his peers in the government. They’ll understand the circumstances that led him to kill Sary.”

  “Let’s hope so, Your Majesty.”

  Though he’d spent a pleasant night with two very willing and able female companions, Serramanna was in a foul mood. He dismissed the pair of them before breakfast, “the rinsing of the mouth,” as the Egyptians called it.

  It nagged at him that the mysterious murder victim still hadn’t been identified, despite his best efforts.

  The Sard had believed that his investigators, armed with the blond woman’s portrait, would quickly turn up new leads. But no one seemed to have seen her about in Pi-Ramses, Memphis, or Thebes. There was only one possible conclusion: she had been kept in strict seclusion.

  He was sure that one person knew a great deal more than she told: Dolora, Ramses’ sister. Unfortunately, Serramanna was limited in the techniques he could use to interrogate her. The penitent Dolora had ingratiated herself with the royal family again, at least to some extent.

  Exasperated, the Sard consulted the reports his men had submitted upon their return to the capital. Investigations in Elephantine, El-Kab, Edfu, towns in the Delta—nothing. One detail caught his attention, however, as he checked the reports against the list of assignments. There was nothing from the Cretan he’d sent to middle Egypt. Yet the man was an old pirate like himself, money-hungry and well aware of the penalty for not completing a job.

  Without shaving, he threw on his clothes and ran to see Ahmeni. The twenty-odd members of the scribe’s staff hadn’t shown up yet, but Ramses’ private secretary and sandal-bearer was already hard at work after a meal of barley porridge, figs, and dried fish. No matter how much he ate, Ahmeni stayed thin as a reed.

  “A problem, Serramanna?”

  “A missing report.”

  “What’s so unusual about that?”

  “It’s one of my mercenaries, a Cretan. A stickler for completing his assignments.”

  “Where did you send this Cretan?”

  “To middle Egypt, let’s see, the province of El-Bersha. Specifically, the area around Akhenaton’s abandoned capital.”

  “The middle of nowhere, in other words.”

  “Yes. You’ve taught me how to be thorough.”

  Ahmeni smiled. The two men hadn’t begun as friends, but since their reconciliation they had developed a genuine appreciation for each other.

  “Perhaps something held him up.”

  “The Cretan should have made it back here a week ago or more.”

  “Frankly, it doesn’t seem like anything major.”

  “My instincts tell me it’s serious.”

  “Why talk to me about it? You have the authority to follow up on the matter.”

  “Because nothing adds up, Ahmeni.”

  “Go on.”

  “The vanishing sorcerer, Shaanar’s missing corpse, the blond girl nobody can identify . . . I tell you, I’m worried.”

  “Ramses is Pharaoh and well in control of the situation.”

  “We’re not at peace, as far as I know. The Hittites still want to conquer Egypt.”

  “So you think the Hittite spy network is still operating in some form?”

  “To me it feels like the calm before the storm. And my intuition rarely fails me.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m leaving for Akhenaton’s ghost town. Take care of the Pharaoh while I’m gone.”

  Dolora, Ramses’ older sister, was assailed by doubts. The tall brunette had returned to a life of aristocratic ease, an endless round of parties and palace obligations. She exchanged small talk with shallow society matrons while a flock of pathetic ladies’ men, young and old, bored her silly with their attentions.

  Since her conversion to the belief in Aton as the sole True God, Dolora was obsessed. She wanted to spread the truth throughout Egypt, banishing false idols and their misguided worshipers. Here in Pi-Ramses, everyone she met seemed to be blindly content with the status quo.

  Her chambermaid, a dark young woman with merry eyes, changed the bed and swept the room.

  “Not feeling well, Your Highness?”

  “It isn’t easy being a princess.”

  “Nice clothes, beautiful gardens, plenty of handsome men . . . I might trade places with you.”

  “Are you unhappy with your life?”

  “Oh, no! I have a good husband, two healthy children, and we make a decent living. We’ve almost finished building our new house.”

  Dolora asked what she always wanted to, but rarely dared.

  “What about God? Is that something you think about?”

  “God is everywhere, Your Highness. It’s enough to worship our deities and contemplate nature.”

  Dolora let the subject drop. Ofir was right: their religion would have to be imposed by force. It was no good waiting for the people to convert on their own. Once they were properly indoctrinated, they would renounce their erroneous beliefs.

  “Your Highness . . . have you heard the latest?”

  The chambermaid’s sparkling eyes showed that she was simply bursting to talk. Dolora sensed a chance to pick up some interesting gossip.

  “They say you plan to remarry and all the noblemen are fighting for your hand.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  “That’s too bad. You’ve been grieving long enough. I don’t think it’s right for a woman like you to be alone.”

  “I’m happy just as I am.”

  “You seem so sad sometimes. I guess it’s normal. You must think about your poor husband. It’s awful that he was murdered. Do you ever wonder what happened to him in the Judgment Hall of the Dead? With all due respect, Your Highness, I hear that he wasn’t exactly blameless.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right,” she sighed.

  “Then why not get on with your life?”

  “I have no wish to remarry.”

  “Well, better days ahead, Your Highness. Especially if your husband’s murderer is convicted!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Moses is going on trial soon.”

  “Moses—I thought he was still a fugitive!”

  “It’s supposed to be a secret, but my husband is friends with the warden of the main prison. They have the Hebrew locked up there. They’ll ask for the death penalty!”

  “Is he allowed to have visitors?”

  “No, they’re keeping him in solitary because the charges against him are so serious. You’ll surely be asked to testify. Then you can get revenge!”

  Moses, back in Egypt! Moses, who worshiped the One True God! It had to be a sign, Dolora thought. A sign from heaven.

  FIFTEEN

  The trial was held in the main courtroom, with the vizier presiding as Ma’at’s representative. Dressed in a starched and heavy r
obe, his only ornament was a heart, the symbol of human conscience, to be weighed on the scales in the Judgment Hall of the Dead.

  Before the hearing, the vizier had met Ramses in the temple of Ptah to renew the Pharaoh’s oath to uphold justice. Refraining from mentioning any particulars, the king had confirmed his commitment to an impartial legal process.

  The courtroom was full. This was one trial no member of the court would want to miss.

  A few Hebrew elders were among the spectators. Opinion was sharply divided. Some remained convinced of Moses’ guilt, while others believed he would be exonerated. They were all acquainted with the defendant’s strong personality; no one doubted that he had known what he was doing.

  The vizier opened the hearing with an invocation to Ma’at, the divine law that would outlive the human race. Forty-two strips of leather were lined up on the courtroom floor, a reminder that the verdict would be valid in all of Egypt’s forty-two provinces.

  Two soldiers accompanied Moses into the courtroom. All eyes were riveted on the Hebrew. His face was weathered and bearded, his stature impressive. Ramses’ former chief of construction appeared surprisingly calm. The guards showed him to a seat that faced the vizier.

  On either side of the attorney general sat the fourteen-member jury, including a surveyor, a priestess of the goddess Sekhmet, a doctor, a carpenter, a housewife and mother, a farmworker, a Treasury scribe, a noblewoman, a builder, a woman weaver, the general of the Ra division, a stone carver, a scribe attached to the granaries, and a sailor.

  “Is your name Moses?” the judge began.

  “It is.”

  “Do you have cause to disqualify any member of this jury? Look at them and take time to think.”

  “I trust in your country’s justice.”

  “Isn’t it your country, too?”

  “I was born here, but I’m a Hebrew.”

  “You’re an Egyptian citizen, and will be tried as such.”

  “Would the proceedings and the verdict be different if I were a foreigner?”

  “Of course not.”

  “What does it matter, then?”

  “That’s for the court to decide. Are you ashamed of being Egyptian?”

  “That’s for the court to decide, as you just said.”

  “You stand accused of killing a foreman named Sary, then fleeing the law. Do you acknowledge these facts?”

  “I do, but they require an explanation.”

  “That’s the point of this trial. Do you consider the charges against you to be incorrect?”

  “No.”

  “You will therefore understand that in keeping with the law I must seek the death penalty in this case.”

  A murmur ran through the crowd. Moses was stone-faced, as if these dreadful words had nothing to do with him.

  “Given the grave nature of the accusations,” the vizier continued, “I am placing no limits on the length of this trial. The defendant will have all the time he needs to present his side of the case. I demand absolute silence and will suspend proceedings if there is the least disorder in the court. The offenders will be held in contempt and liable for heavy penalties.”

  The judge then turned to face Moses.

  “At the time of the incident, what was your occupation?”

  “I was a government official, in charge of construction at Pi-Ramses. One of my duties was supervising the Hebrew brickmakers.”

  “By all accounts, your performance was exemplary. You were a personal friend of the Pharaoh’s, were you not?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “You graduated from the royal academy in Memphis, were appointed junior administrator with the harem at Merur, served as supply officer and surveyor in the late Pharaoh Seti’s army, directed his renovations at Luxor, then went on to supervise the construction of Pi-Ramses. In short, you were a rising star. The victim, Sary, was exactly the opposite. He had been Ramses’ private tutor, rose to become director of the royal academy, but later emerged from exile to become a construction foreman, working with the Hebrew brickmakers. Were you informed of the reasons for his demotion?”

  “I had my opinion.”

  “Please state it for the record.”

  “Sary was an evil man, ambitious and greedy. It was Fate that struck him through my hand.”

  Ahmeni requested the floor. “The defense can show evidence that Sary repeatedly plotted against the king. Because he was married to the princess Dolora, Ramses declined to press charges.”

  A number of the influential spectators appeared surprised.

  “Let the princess Dolora appear before this court,” ordered the vizier.

  The lanky brunette came meekly forward.

  “Do you agree with the statements made by Moses and Ahmeni?”

  Dolora hung her head.

  “If anything, they’re much too moderate. My husband had become a monster. Once he understood his academic career was finished, he was a broken man. He took his frustrations out on his subordinates. In the end, he was consumed with hatred for the brickmakers he supervised. His cruel mistreatment of the Hebrew workers amounted to persecution. If Moses hadn’t killed him, someone else would have.”

  The vizier looked intrigued. “Are you sure you’re not exaggerating?”

  “I swear I’m not! My husband was making my life a living hell!”

  “Are you saying you’re glad he died?”

  Dolora slumped even more. “I was, well, relieved, and ashamed of feeling that way. But how could I miss a man who’d become so cruel?”

  “Any further information that pertains to the case?”

  “No, Your Honor.” Dolora returned to her place among the nobles.

  “Does anyone wish to testify in Sary’s defense or challenge his widow’s testimony?”

  The courtroom was silent. The scribe who was serving as court reporter took notes in a sure and rapid hand.

  “Give your version of the events in question,” the vizier instructed Moses.

  “It was a sort of accident. Although my relations with Sary were strained, I never intended to kill him.”

  “Why the strained relations?”

  “Because I’d found out that the man was an extortionist who abused the Hebrew brickmakers in his work gang. I was defending one of them against Sary when I accidentally killed him, only to save my own life.”

  “You therefore claim that you acted in self-defense?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Why did you flee the scene?”

  “Because I panicked.”

  “A strange reaction for a man who’s innocent.”

  “Killing a man is a profoundly shocking experience. In the aftermath, you’re confused. You feel like you might be drunk. Then you realize what you’ve done and the only thing you want to do is get away. Away from yourself, from the horrible act you’ve committed. You want to forget, to be forgotten. That is why I hid in the desert.”

  “Once you were more rational, you should have returned to Egypt and surrendered to the proper authorities.”

  “I took a wife and we had a son. Egypt faded into the distance.”

  “Why did you come back?”

  “I have a mission to accomplish.”

  “What mission?”

  “For the moment, that’s my secret. It has no bearing on the trial, I promise. In time all will be revealed.”

  Moses’ responses irritated the vizier.

  “Your version of the facts is hardly convincing. I can’t say your conduct pleads in your favor. Your explanations are unsupported. I believe you murdered Sary with premeditation because he was an enemy of your people. Your motive is understandable, but the fact remains that it was a capital crime. On your recent return to Pi-Ramses, you continued to live in hiding, which is tantamount to an admission of guilt. A man with nothing on his conscience would never behave that way.”

  Ahmeni decided it was time to step in.

  “I have proof of Moses’ innocence.”

&nbs
p; The magistrate frowned. “It had better be admissible, I warn you.”

  “The Hebrew brickmaker involved in the incident was named Abner. Sary was extorting money from him. Abner complained to Moses, and Sary was planning to get revenge. Moses broke in on their fight. An accidental blow killed Sary. There was no premeditation; it was self-defense. Abner was there as a witness. He later gave a deposition in accordance with the law, which I now submit to the court.”

  Ahmeni handed the document to the vizier.

  The magistrate checked the judge’s seal on the papyrus, then broke it, noted the date, and perused the text.

  Moses took care not to show his emotion, but exchanged a meaningful glance with Ahmeni.

  “This document is authentic and admitted as evidence.”

  The trial was over. The charges would be dismissed. Surely the jury would vote for acquittal.

  “Before the jury deliberates,” the vizier announced, “I’d like to call one last witness.”

  Ahmeni’s brows knitted.

  “I request that the brickmaker Abner appear before me,” the judge intoned, “and provide confirmation of the facts in person.”

  SIXTEEN

  Ramses vented his anger. Ahmeni listened.

  “Indisputable evidence, a legal deposition sworn and sealed—and Moses is still in prison!”

  “The vizier is only being thorough,” said Ahmeni in his secretary’s voice.

  “What more does he need?”

  “He wants to question Abner for himself.”

  There was no way around it. A judge had every right to call a witness. Ramses sighed.

  “Have they issued the subpoena?”

  “Yes, and that’s the hitch.”

  “Why?”

  “Abner seems to have disappeared. The elders say that no one’s seen him for months.”

  “They’re lying! They want to hurt Moses’ case.”

  “Could be. But what can we do?”

  “Let Serramanna look for him.”

  “We’ll have to wait. Serramanna is following up on an investigation near Akhenaton’s old capital in middle Egypt. He’s a man with a mission. He won’t rest until he learns the identity of that murdered girl, the one involved with the sorcerer. And frankly, he’s convinced that the Hittite spy network was never disabled.”