Ramses, Volume V Read online

  “Has Your Majesty had news of Ahsha?”

  “He arrived safe and sound in Hattusa.”

  “It won’t be easy to make Hattusili back down.”

  “Ahsha’s had trickier assignments.”

  “This time he doesn’t have much room to maneuver.”

  “Now tell me, Ahmeni, what you couldn’t bring up in front of the cabinet.”

  “First there’s Moses. Then an incident we need to check on.”

  “Moses?”

  “In a tight corner with his Hebrews. Everyone is afraid of them; they have to fight tooth and nail to survive. If we intervened, the Hebrew problem could be resolved in short order. But we’re dealing with Moses, our boyhood friend, and I know you’ll let destiny take its course.”

  “Since you know the answer, why ask me the question?”

  “The desert patrol is still on alert. If the Hebrews wanted to come back to Egypt, would you let them?”

  “When they come back, neither Moses nor I will be living. Let’s move on to the incident that troubles you.”

  “We won’t be getting the expected shipment of olibanum.”

  “Why not, Ahmeni?”

  “I’ve had a long report from the Phoenician middleman who deals with the producers. A hailstorm hit the trees, and before that they suffered some kind of blight. There’ll be no harvest this year.”

  “Has that ever happened before?”

  “I’ve consulted the archives, so I can tell you that it’s not unprecedented. Fortunately, it’s a rare phenomenon.”

  “Do we have enough reserves?”

  “No restrictions will be placed on the temples. I’ve ordered our Phoenician suppliers to bid early on the next harvest so that we can replenish our stock.”

  Raia was jubilant. Ordinarily abstemious, he’d celebrated by knocking back two quick goblets of strong beer. He felt a bit lightheaded, but then he would have even without the drink. His small victories were finally adding up to something major.

  The contact with his fellow Syrian expatriates had exceeded all his expectations. Raia had sparked a renewal of interest and activity among the downtrodden, the bitter, the envious. The Hittites, disappointed with Hattusili’s policies, jumped on the bandwagon. The emperor was soft; he’d never try to conquer Egypt. When all the factions met secretly with Uri-Teshoop at one of Raia’s warehouses, there was widespread enthusiasm. A leader of the prince’s stature would one day soon bring power within their reach.

  And Raia had plenty of other good news for Uri-Teshoop—as soon as the prince was through ogling the three naked Nubian dancing girls that he and Dame Tanit had hired to entertain their guests. The new expatriate couple was by now the toast of Pi-Ramses.

  Tanit was experiencing both heaven and hell on earth. It was bliss having a real man, always ready to satisfy her at any hour of the day or night, whose hot, hard love made her wild with pleasure. Yet it was hell, too, because he was so rough and unpredictable; she never knew when he might strike out at her. Tanit, who had always lived as she pleased, had become a willing yet troubled slave to Uri-Teshoop.

  The hundred-odd guests had eyes only for the three dancing girls. Their round, firm breasts hardly jiggled. Their long slim legs tantalized even the most blasé of the spectators. But these delightful entertainers were untouchable. Once their number was finished, they would disappear without a word to anyone. Their fans would have to wait for their next appearance at some equally lavish banquet.

  Uri-Teshoop left his bride deep in discussion with two businessmen so mesmerized by the performance that they would have signed any contract. The Hittite prince grabbed a bunch of grapes and settled into a pile of cushions near a column decorated with painted grapevines. Behind it sat Raia. Without looking at each other, the two men could talk in low voices as the band was playing.

  “What’s so urgent, Raia?”

  “I talked with an old courtier who gets a discount on my best vases. He tells me the palace is in an uproar over a rumor that’s circulating. I’ve been trying to confirm it for the past two days. The situation does sound serious.”

  “Does it affect us?”

  “They say that to seal the pact between Egypt and Hatti, the emperor is demanding that Ramses marry his daughter.”

  “Another diplomatic marriage . . . What would that change?”

  “You don’t understand. Hattusili insists that she become the Great Royal Wife!”

  “A Hittite princess on the throne of Egypt?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Unthinkable!”

  “They say Ramses has refused to give in to Hattusili’s ultimatum. He won’t repudiate Iset the Fair.”

  “In other words . . .”

  “Yes, Highness—a hope of war!”

  “That upsets all our plans.”

  “Too soon to say; in my opinion, it’s preferable not to make any changes until we have solid information. Ahsha is supposed to be in Hattusa negotiating with the emperor. I still have a lot of friends up there, so we’ll soon find out what’s happening. And that’s not all . . . I have an interesting person I’d like you to meet.”

  “Where is this person?”

  “Hiding in the garden. We could—”

  “Bring him to my bedchamber and wait for me there. Go through the vineyard and enter the house through the laundry. As soon as the banquet is over, I’ll catch up with you.”

  When the last guest had departed, Tanit draped herself around Uri-Teshoop. She burned with a fire that only her lover could quench. Almost tenderly, he led her toward their bedchamber, a love nest full of expensive furniture, floral arrangements, and clouds of scent. Before she was through the door, the comely Phoenician whipped her dress off.

  Uri-Teshoop shoved her inside the room.

  Tanit thought this was some new game, but she froze at the sight of Raia, the Syrian merchant, accompanied by a strange man with a square face, wavy hair, and black eyes that flashed with cruelty and madness.

  “Who is this?” she stammered.

  “They’re friends,” replied Uri-Teshoop.

  Terrorized, Dame Tanit clutched at a linen sheet and covered her ample curves. Raia, momentarily speechless, could not understand why the Hittite was letting her in on the meeting. The man with the cruel eyes sat still.

  “I want Tanit to hear all that goes on here,” declared Uri-Teshoop. “She should become our accomplice and ally. From now on, her fortune will serve our cause. One wrong move, and she’ll be eliminated. Are we all in agreement?”

  The stranger nodded; Raia followed suit.

  “You see, darling, you have no chance of escaping the three of us or those we command. Have I made myself understood?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes!”

  “Then we can count on your unconditional support?”

  “You have my word, Uri-Teshoop!”

  “You won’t be sorry.”

  His right hand lightly brushed her breasts. This simple gesture quelled Tanit’s rising panic.

  The Hittite turned to face Raia.

  “Introduce your guest to me.”

  Reassured, the Syrian merchant spoke slowly. “We’ve had a stroke of luck. You may recall that a Libyan sorcerer named Ofir ran our former spy ring. Despite his exceptional talent and the damage he did to the royal family, he was arrested and executed, a terrible loss for our side. But someone has decided to take up the torch and avenge Ofir: his brother, Malfi.”

  Uri-Teshoop looked the Libyan over from head to foot.

  “A worthwhile plan . . . but how will he execute it?”

  “Malfi heads the best-armed tribe in Libya. Combating Egypt is his sole mission in life.”

  “Will he obey me without question?”

  “He’ll place himself under your orders, on the condition that you destroy Ramses and his empire.”

  “It’s a deal. You’ll serve as the intermediary between our Libyan ally and me. His men should start training and prepare to march at a moment’s notice.”r />
  “Malfi will be ready, Your Highness. Libya has been waiting so long to pay Pharaoh back in blood for all his insults!”

  “He can go home. He’ll be hearing from me.”

  The Libyan vanished without having said a word.

  THIRTEEN

  Although it was long past sunrise, the royal palace at Pi-Ramses was in a profound silence. The servants went about their work as usual, but without a sound. Everyone, from cooks to chambermaids, moved like a shadow.

  Ramses’ ill temper had the entire palace staff terror-stricken. The oldest members, who had known the monarch since he was a boy, had never seen him in such a state. Set’s power tore through him like a thunderstorm that left its victims dazed.

  Ramses had a toothache.

  For the first time in his fifty-five years, his body would not obey him. The palace dentists and their ineffective treatment made him so furious that he banished them from his sight. With the exception of Ahmeni, no one knew that another source was also feeding the Pharaoh’s anger: Hattusili was detaining Ahsha in the Hittite capital, allegedly to pursue negotiations, more likely to hold him hostage.

  The court’s hopes rested on a single individual: the chief physician of the realm. Unless a new treatment worked, the king’s mood was liable to worsen.

  Despite the pain, Ramses worked on, with the only person who could handle him in such a state: Ahmeni, himself an old grouch who detested the mincing airs of the courtiers. Working together, they had no need to be agreeable. As far as his secretary was concerned, it was business as usual.

  “Hattusili is baiting us,” Pharaoh said flatly.

  “Perhaps he’s looking for a way out,” suggested Ahmeni. “Rejecting his daughter is an intolerable insult, but the Emperor of Hatti is the one who’ll opt to reopen the hostilities.”

  “I know the old fox will try to pin it on me!”

  “Ahsha is playing him with finesse. I’ll bet that Hattusili doesn’t know which way to turn.”

  “You’re wrong! He’s plotting his next move against me.”

  “As soon as we hear from Ahsha, we’ll know what’s what. His code will tell us whether he’s had free dealings or been held prisoner.”

  “If he weren’t being held against his will, we would have had word by now.”

  There was a tentative knock at the door.

  “I don’t want to see anyone,” decreed the king.

  “It could be the chief physician,” countered Ahmeni, rising to answer.

  In the doorway, the grand chamberlain quaked with fear at the thought of disturbing the monarch.

  “The chief physician has arrived,” he murmured. “Will Your Majesty permit a consultation?”

  The grand chamberlain stepped aside, and in came a young woman as lovely as dawn in springtime, a blossoming lotus, a shimmering wave on the Nile. Her hair was on the light side, her face pure and finely drawn. Her eyes were the shade of a summer sky, her gaze clear and direct. She wore a lapis lazuli necklace around her slender neck, and strands of carnelian at her wrists and ankles. Her linen dress hinted at her high, firm breasts, slim, shapely hips, and long, tapering legs. Her name was Neferet, meaning “beautiful, perfect, accomplished.” What other name would do? Even Ahmeni, who had no time for women (he considered them flighty creatures, unable to sit for hours deciphering hieroglyphs), was forced to admit that the young doctor’s beauty was almost on a plane with Nefertari’s.

  “You’ve taken your time,” grumbled Ramses.

  “My apologies, Your Majesty. I was out of town performing surgery on a little girl. We may have saved her life.”

  “The doctors on your palace staff have no idea what they’re doing!”

  “Medicine is an art as well as a science. Perhaps they simply don’t have my touch.”

  “It’s a good thing Dr. Pariamaku finally retired. Some of his patients may have a chance to recover.”

  “I can tell you’re in pain.”

  “I have no time for pain, Neferet! Cure me as fast as you can.”

  Ahmeni rolled up the scroll he’d just been showing to Ramses, said goodbye to Neferet, and retreated into his office. He’d never been able to bear cries of pain or the sight of blood.

  Neferet took her illustrious patient to a quiet spot where she could examine him. Before attaining the sought-after rank of physician, she had studied and practiced a number of specialties, from dentistry to surgery, including ophthalmology along the way.

  “A competent dentist should treat you, Your Majesty.”

  “It will be you and no one else.”

  “I can suggest a highly skilled specialist . . .”

  “I want you, and I want you now. Your job is on the line.”

  “Come with me, please, Your Majesty.”

  The palace treatment center was airy and sunlit; on the white walls were paintings of medicinal plants.

  The king was settled in a comfortable armchair, his head bent back, neck resting on a pillow.

  “For local anesthesia,” explained Neferet, “I’ll use one of Setau’s pharmaceuticals. You won’t feel a thing.”

  “What’s the nature of the problem?”

  “A cavity with infectious complications, resulting in an abscess that I’m about to drain. Pulling the tooth won’t be necessary. I’ll make a filling with a mixture of resin and mineral substances. For the other sore tooth, I’ll grind a specific remedy to ‘stuff the ache,’ as we say in our medical jargon. The main ingredients are medicinal ocher, honey, quartzite powder, gashed sycamore fruit, bean paste, cumin, bitter apple, acacia gum, and sap.”

  “How did you come up with that?”

  “I consult old treatises written by the sages, Your Majesty, then check the formulation with my favorite instrument.”

  Between her thumb and index finger, Neferet showed him a strand of linen from which a small granite pendant was suspended. When held over the correct ingredient, the stone began to spin.

  “You practice divining, like my father,” commented Ramses.

  “And yourself, Majesty. I’ve heard how you found water in the desert. Now, in addition to the procedure you’ll be undergoing today, you’ll have to care for your gums by chewing a paste made of bryony, juniper, absinthe, sycamore nutlets, and medicinal ocher. For pain, I’m prescribing an extract of willow; it’s a most effective analgesic.”

  “What other bad news do you have for me?”

  “Your pulse and your eye examination show that you’re endowed with exceptional energy, allowing you to fight off most illness, but as the years go by your joints will continue to bother you . . . and you’ll have to live with it.”

  “I hope to die before I’m crippled with arthritis!”

  “You’re Egypt’s peace and happiness, Your Majesty; the people hope to see you reach a ripe old age. Sages live to a hundred and ten, so they say; that’s how old Ptah-hotep was when he wrote his Maxims.”

  Ramses smiled.

  “Watching you and listening to you eases my pain.”

  “The anesthesia is taking hold, Your Majesty.”

  “How are my health policies working, Neferet?”

  “I’ll compose my annual report for you soon. Overall, the situation is satisfactory, but public and private health measures need constant upgrading. They’re all that keeps Egypt safe from epidemics. Your director of the Double House of Gold and Silver must not skimp on purchasing the rare and expensive ingredients used in medicinal compounds. I’ve just learned that we won’t be receiving the usual shipment of olibanum, which I can’t do without.”

  “You needn’t worry; we have plenty in reserve.”

  “The anesthetic has taken effect by now. Ready, Your Majesty?” she asked, approaching him.

  Facing thousands of bloodthirsty Hittites at Kadesh, Ramses had never flinched. But he closed his eyes when he saw the dentist’s instruments zeroing in on his mouth.

  Serramanna was having trouble keeping up with Ramses’ chariot. Since Neferet had applied her
remarkably effective treatment, the monarch was twice as energetic as ever. Only Ahmeni, as frail as he was, could match the Pharaoh’s capacity for work.

  A coded message from Ahsha had reassured Ramses on his account. The secretary of state had not been taken prisoner, but was staying in Hattusa to pursue negotiations for an indeterminate period. As Ahmeni had supposed, the Hittite emperor was reluctant to initiate a conflict with an uncertain outcome.

  As the floodwaters subsided from lower Egypt, the late-summer weather was balmy. The king’s chariot drove along a canal serving local villages. No one, not even Ahmeni, knew the nature of Ramses’ highly personal and urgent mission.

  The death of the king’s older brother, Shaanar, and his accomplices had made it somewhat easier to provide security for Ramses. Yet having Uri-Teshoop at large worried Serramanna, the more so since the monarch’s fearlessness was undiminished with age.

  Ramses pulled up beneath a lush tree at the edge of the canal.

  “Come see, Serramanna! According to the records at the House of Life, this is the oldest willow tree in Egypt. An extract from its bark soothed my toothache. That’s why I’ve come to give thanks. And I’ll do better: with my own hands, I’ll plant willow shoots in Pi-Ramses, and order that the same be done throughout the country. The gods and nature have given us so much; let’s take care to multiply their treasures.”

  “No other land,” mused the former pirate, “could have produced a king like this one.”

  FOURTEEN

  A frigid wind blew across the high Anatolian plateau; in Hattusa, winter came close on the heels of autumn. Ahsha had no complaints about Hattusili’s hospitality, however. The food was decent, if nothing fancy, and the two Hittite girls sent to entertain him performed with zeal and conviction.

  But he missed Egypt. Egypt and Ramses. Ahsha wished he could grow old in the shadow of the monarch whom he had served his whole life and on whose account he had agreed, with concealed enthusiasm, to confront the worst dangers. As a youth at the royal academy in Memphis, Ahsha had sought true power. Only Ramses had it—not Moses, as he had once briefly believed. Moses fought for a truth that had been revealed to him, while Ramses built upon the truth of a civilization and a people, day after day, offering his every act up to Ma’at, to the invisible, to the principle of life. Like his predecessors, Ramses knew that stasis meant death. He was like a musician who could play several instruments, constantly creating new melodies with the same timeless notes. Ramses took his power from the gods; he wielded it not as a club, but rather a striving for rectitude. Adherence to the law of Ma’at meant that no pharaoh of Egypt would become a tyrant. His function was not to subjugate men, but to liberate them from themselves. To watch Ramses reign was to contemplate a stoneworker sculpting the face of a divinity.