“How was it sent?”
“One of the couriers brought it direct from Hatti. He says that it never left his hands.”
Ramses read Ahsha’s letter detailing the extent of the Hittite empire’s internal troubles. He understood why the earlier dispatches had persuaded his friend to put the forts along the northeastern border on high alert.
“The Hittites are in no shape to attack us, Ahmeni. The queen and I can leave.”
Outfitted with his amulet and his magic wristband, Kha was copying a mathematical formula that showed how to calculate the ideal angle for hoisting stones up a building under construction, surrounded by earthworks. His sister, Meritamon, grew more skilled each day at her harp. She loved to play with their little brother, Merenptah, whose first attempts at walking were closely monitored by Iset the Fair and Fighter. The enormous Nubian lion liked to gaze through half-closed eyes as the human cub toddled around.
Fighter’s head snapped to attention when Serramanna appeared at the garden gate. Interpreting the Sard’s intentions as peaceful, the lion gave a small roar and settled back into his sphinx-like pose.
“I’d like to speak with Kha,” Serramanna said to Iset the Fair.
“Has he done something wrong?” she asked, haltingly.
“No, of course not. But he may be able to help with my investigation.”
“Wait here. As soon as he’s worked out his problem, I’ll send him over.”
Serramanna had made progress.
He knew that a Libyan sorcerer named Ofir was responsible for murdering Lita, his sadly deluded protégée. As the leading proponent of Akhenaton’s heresy, he had used religion as a cover for his role as a Hittite spy, as well as to spread sedition. These were no longer theories; they were facts gleaned from a peddler nabbed by Serramanna’s men when he showed up at Ofir’s former Memphis residence (a house deeded to Shaanar). The peddler was only a smalltime Hittite agent, to be sure, working on call for the Syrian merchant Raia. He never heard that Raia had fled to Hatti and the underground network had been dismantled. Fearing rough treatment, he was more than willing to talk, and with his cooperation Serramanna tied up a number of loose ends.
But Ofir still eluded him, and Serramanna was not at all convinced that Shaanar had died in the desert. Had the two of them taken off for Hatti together? Experience had taught the Sard that evildoers never gave up and their imagination was limitless.
Kha approached the giant and looked straight up at him.
“You’re tall. You must be awfully strong.”
“Will you answer some questions for me?”
“Are you good at math?”
“I know how to count my men and the arms I issue them.”
“Do you know how to build a temple or a pyramid?”
“Pharaoh gave me another job: catching criminals.”
“What I like is writing and reading hieroglyphs.”
“That’s just what I wanted to talk to you about—the brush you’re missing.”
“It was my favorite one. I really miss it.”
“You must have given this some thought, then. I’m sure you can help me figure out who’s guilty.”
“I have an idea, but I’m not sure. An accusation of theft is not something to be made lightly.”
The boy’s maturity astounded the Sard. If there really was a clue, Kha would never have overlooked it.
“Have you noticed anyone around you behaving strangely?”
“For a few weeks, I seemed to have a new friend.”
“And who was that?”
“Old Meba, the diplomat. He showed a sudden interest in my work. Then, just as suddenly, he was gone.”
A broad grin lit the hulking Sardinian’s weather-beaten face.
“Thank you, Prince Kha.”
In Pi-Ramses, as in Egypt’s other cities, the Feast of Flowers was a day of public celebration. As the nation’s chief priestess, Nefertari never forgot that from the First Dynasty forward the government had relied on a cycle of feast days cementing the marriage of heaven and earth. The royal couple’s continuation of the tradition involved the population as a whole in the life of the gods.
On temple altars as well as doorsteps, floral arrangements vied for attention. Here were huge bouquets, palm fronds, bunches of roses; there were lotuses, cornflowers, mandrakes with their stems.
Dancing with round or square tambourines, waving acacia branches, wearing garlands of cornflowers and poppies, women in the service of Hathor roamed through the city’s main streets, crushing thousands of petals beneath their feet.
Ramses’ sister, Dolora, had positioned herself near the queen, whose beauty dazzled everyone lucky enough to catch sight of her. Nefertari remembered her girlhood dream of a cloistered life. How could she have conceived of a Great Royal Wife’s obligations, which seemed to weigh more heavily each day?
The procession surged toward the temple of Amon, where it was greeted with rousing cheers.
“Has your departure date been settled, Your Majesty?” inquired Dolora.
“Our ship will cast off tomorrow morning,” Nefertari answered her.
“The court is uneasy. There’s talk that your absence will last several months.”
“It’s possible.”
“Will you really go as far as Nubia?”
“That’s what Pharaoh has decided.”
“Egypt needs you so badly!”
“Nubia is part of our kingdom, Dolora.”
“It can be dangerous down there . . .”
“This won’t be a pleasure cruise.”
“I’m sure it’s a pressing matter, to keep you away from the capital so long?”
Nefertari smiled dreamily. “It’s love, Dolora. Only love.”
“I don’t understand, Your Majesty.”
“I was thinking out loud,” the queen said, still distant.
“I’d like so much to help out . . . how can I be of use to you during your absence?”
“Give Iset a hand, if she wants one; my only regret is missing out on the children’s upbringing.”
“May the gods watch over them, and their mother as well.”
As soon as the feast was over, Dolora would pass the information she had gathered on to Ofir. In leaving the capital for an extended period, Ramses and Nefertari were making a mistake that their enemies would put to good use.
Accompanied by his sandal-bearer, Meba set out for a leisurely boat ride on Pi-Ramses’ yachting basin. The diplomat felt the need to reflect, gazing out on the tranquil waters.
Caught up in a whirlwind, Meba was no longer quite himself. His highest aim had been a life of luxury, along with the distinction of high public office, requiring the occasional intrigue to shore up his position. Now he was heading a Hittite spy ring, working toward the destruction of Egypt . . . No, he had never wished it.
But Meba was afraid. Afraid of Ofir, his icy stare, his simmering violence. There was no way out. Meba’s future depended on Ramses’ fall.
The sandal-bearer hailed a boatman dozing on the shore. Serramanna came between them.
“May I be of help, Your Excellence?”
The old diplomat flinched. “I don’t believe so.”
“Oh, I’d love a chance to get out on the water. Won’t you let me row you?”
The Sard’s sheer bulk was daunting. “As you wish.”
With a push from Serramanna, the boat was quickly under way.
“It’s so lovely here. It’s too bad that you and I have so little time to enjoy it.”
“Why do you want to see me?”
“Don’t worry, I have no intention of interrogating you.”
“Why would you?”
“I simply need your advice on a delicate point.”
“I’m not sure I can help you.”
“Have you heard of the strange case involving Prince Kha? It seems his favorite brush has been stolen.”
Meba avoided making eye contact.
“Stolen? Are you sure?”
�
�The prince has no doubt about it.”
“But Kha is only a child.”
“I wonder whether you might know who the thief could be.”
“The very idea! Row me back to shore at once, please.”
Serramanna flashed a carnivorous grin.
“Yes, sir. And thank you for a most educational outing.”
TWENTY-NINE
In the prow of the royal flagship, Ramses clasped Nefertari tenderly. The royal couple was celebrating an intensely happy moment, communing with the spirit of the river, the great giver of life, the celestial stream emptying out of the heavens to form Egypt’s lifeblood.
The water level was high, and the sailing fast, thanks to a brisk tailwind. The captain remained on constant alert, for the current was full of dangerous eddies. One false move could result in a shipwreck.
Each day, Nefertari was more of a wonder. Her beauty married grace with queenly authority, miraculously combining a radiant personality with a flawless physique. This long journey south would be the expression of Ramses’ love for she whose serene presence was the light of Egypt and its pharaoh. His life with Nefertari had taught Ramses why the sages had advised that a royal couple should rule over the nation as one.
After nine years on the throne, Ramses and Nefertari were enriched by all they had been through together, and still as much in love as the moment when they first realized they were bound together for life and death.
Her hair in the breeze, wearing a simple white dress, Nefertari was admiring the marvelous scenery of middle Egypt; palm groves, fields along the riverbanks, white villages perched on hilltops were a heavenly sight, like what the just would see in the next world. The royal couple had striven to build such a heaven on earth.
“Aren’t you afraid that our absence . . .”
“I’ve spent the greater part of my reign in the north. The time has come for me to concentrate on the south. Egypt can never survive unless the two lands are united. And this war against Hatti has made me spend too much time away from you.”
“The war isn’t over.”
“The Near East is in a period of upheaval. If there’s a chance for peace, shouldn’t we take it?”
“So this is what’s behind Ahsha’s secret mission,” said Nefertari.
“Yes. The risks he’s running are huge. But I know he’s the man for the job.”
“You and I are together, through joy or suffering, hope or fear. May the magic we seek on this journey protect our friend Ahsha!”
Setau’s footsteps echoed on the bridge.
“Excuse me for interrupting,” he began.
“Go ahead, Setau.”
“I wish I could have stayed close to Kha. The boy will make a tremendous magician. As far as his safety goes, don’t worry; he’s well protected. No one will break through the wall of magic I built around him.”
“Won’t you and Lotus be glad to see Nubia again?” asked Nefertari.
“Yes, it has the world’s finest snakes. But I really came to tell you that the captain’s worried about what he reads in the currents. He thinks we may run into trouble and plans to head for shore once we pass that grassy island.”
The Nile meandered, ran past a sheer wall where vultures nested, then flowed away from the cliffs. Soon a long semicircle of mountains stretched before them.
Nefertari’s hand flew to her throat.
“What’s the matter?” Ramses asked anxiously.
“A catch in my throat . . . it’s nothing.”
A violent blow rocked the ship. Nearby was the whoosh of a whirlpool.
On the shore stood the crumbling buildings of Akhenaton’s ghostly capital.
“Take the queen into our cabin,” Ramses ordered Setau, “and keep an eye on her.”
Some of the sailors began to panic. One of them fell off the mainmast as he tried to haul in a sail, striking the captain. With the captain too dazed to issue clear orders, confusion ensued.
“Silence!” Ramses thundered. “Every man to his post. I’ll tell you what to do next.”
Within a few minutes, the danger was evident. The rest of the flotilla, riding on a countercurrent and unable to comprehend why the royal vessel was bucking wildly, was abruptly cut off and unable to lend any aid.
When the flagship’s course was righted, the king saw the reason for their trouble—but no way around it.
In the middle of the river was a huge whirlpool. The landing at the City of the Horizon of Aton, which should have been easy to pass, was dammed with rafts. On the rafts sat charcoal burners. The king could either sacrifice his ship to the river or have it catch on fire if he rammed the blockade.
Who would have laid such a trap near the abandoned city? Ramses knew what had so upset Nefertari; with her second sight, she had sensed the danger.
The king had only moments left to think. This time, his lion could do nothing to help him.
“Ship ahoy!” yelled the lookout.
Tossing aside the goose drumstick he was gnawing, Shaanar lunged for his bow and sword. The mighty prince and sybarite had hardened into a warrior.
“Is Pharaoh’s boat cut off from the others?”
“Just as you planned it, My Lord. The escort is at some distance.”
The mercenary was salivating. The handful of men Ofir had recruited for this ambush would be richly compensated, to hear Shaanar tell it. His fiery speeches had whipped them into a killing frenzy.
Yet no hired killer would dare touch Ramses, for fear of being thunderstruck. Ever since Kadesh, the tale of his supernatural powers had been circulating. Shaanar simply shrugged and promised to finish off the tyrant himself.
“Half of you head for the rafts; the rest come with me.”
So Ramses was about to die near the City of the Horizon of Aton, as if Akhenaton’s heresy would finally win out over Amon and the other divinities that the King of Egypt worshiped. Taking Nefertari hostage, Shaanar would have no trouble convincing his dead brother’s escort to accept him as their new king. Ramses’ demise would open a gaping breach into which Shaanar would leap without delay.
Several mercenaries jumped off the landing onto the rafts and were preparing to launch flaming arrows toward the royal flagship while their fellow recruits attacked it from the rear, under Shaanar’s command.
There was no way that they could lose.
“All oarsmen to starboard!” cried Ramses.
A first flaming arrow struck the wooden wall of the cabin amidships. Lotus, alert and nimble, snuffed out the fire with some sackcloth.
Ramses climbed on the cabin roof, drew his bowstring, took aim at one of the attackers, held his breath, and fired. The arrow pierced the mercenary’s throat. His comrades crouched behind the coal fires to take cover from the monarch’s deadly shots. Their own arrows, fired at random, disappeared in the churning waters around the ship.
The ship had changed tack so suddenly following Ramses’ shouted orders that it bucked like a wild horse and veered sideways, pounded by the raging river on the port side. There was a chance they could make it to shore if they weren’t sucked into the whirlpool or overtaken by Shaanar’s men in their more easily maneuvered boats. Shaanar himself had already picked off two men on the poop deck. Arrows through their chests, they splashed into the river.
Setau ran to the prow, gingerly carrying a clay egg. Covered with inscriptions, this talisman was a replica of the “egg of the world” preserved in the inner sanctum of the great temple of Thoth at Hermopolis. Only state magicians like Setau were authorized to use such a powerful and highly charged tool.
Setau was not at all pleased. He had planned to use the talisman in Nubia, if some unexpected threat to the royal couple arose. He hated to part with it, but there was no other way to deal with this wretched whirlpool.
The snake charmer lobbed the sacred egg into the swirling waters. They bubbled, as if coming to a boil. A spout formed and a wave crashed over the rafts, putting out some of the fires and killing two mercenaries.
> The flagship was safe now from fire and shipwreck, but the situation on deck was deteriorating. Shaanar’s men had thrown grappling hooks and were climbing up the rigging. Their chief unleashed arrow after arrow, holding the Egyptian sailors at bay.
Two flaming arrows hit the mainsail, starting another fire that Lotus again extinguished. Although he was exposed to enemy fire, Ramses held his position and continued to pick off the mercenaries. Alerted by shouts from the rear of the ship, he wheeled to find a pirate with his ax poised over an unarmed sailor’s head.
Pharaoh’s gaze briefly met the wild eyes of the enemy leader, a bearded, frantic man who was aiming straight for him. The monarch dodged the arrow with the slightest of movements to the left; it only grazed his cheek. His frustrated attacker ordered the remaining mercenaries to retreat.
A falling spark caught Lotus’s dress on fire. She plunged into the river, only to be sucked into the dying whirlpool. She waved a struggling arm, calling for help.
Ramses dove into the river after her.
Emerging from the cabin amidships, Nefertari saw her husband disappear into the Nile.
THIRTY
The minutes flew by.
The flagship and its escort had anchored in now-calm waters near the abandoned landing. Three or four mercenaries had managed to escape, but Nefertari and Setau did not give them a thought. Like Fighter’s, their eyes were trained on the spot where Ramses and Lotus had gone under.
The queen had burnt incense to Hathor, the goddess of navigation. With a quiet dignity that won the sailors’ hearts, Nefertari awaited the search party’s report. Some men were dragging the river, others were beating the towpaths, the better to comb the high grass along the banks. No doubt the current had already swept the king and the Nubian beauty far away.
Setau stayed close to the queen.
“Pharaoh will come back,” she murmured.
“Your Majesty . . . the river can be unforgiving.”
“He’s fine, and he’s saved Lotus.”
“You think . . .”
“Ramses’ work is unfinished. A pharaoh with so much left to do can’t possibly die.”
Ramses, Volume IV Page 15