Wrath of Ra, Page 3

  Ramose’s mouth dropped open. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Marriage?” was all he managed to say.

  3

  ENSNARED

  “You should be pleased,” said Hatshepsut, still smiling spitefully. “This solution doesn’t involve bloodshed. None of your friends in Naharin need die. It’s a peaceful solution, just as you wanted. You, of course, will be required to live in Naharin with your wife, to ensure that your new relatives behave themselves.”

  Ramose could feel anger surging up inside him. Hatshepsut had baited a hook and he had obediently swallowed it. All of the things Hatshepsut had done to him before—lying to him, imprisoning him, betraying him—had made him more sad than angry. This made him furious. Hatshepsut wanted him out of the way. Ramose realised that his sister had ambitions. Tuthmosis might be pharaoh, but Hatshepsut wanted to be in control—not just of the palace but of all Egypt.

  “You have no right to tell me what to do!” shouted Ramose. “I won’t marry a barbarian princess.”

  Hatshepsut smiled triumphantly. “I didn’t think you thought of our neighbours as barbarians, Ramose,” she said. “I thought you believed they were all equal in status to Egyptians.”

  Ramose was furious with himself that he’d made such a slip. It only made Hatshepsut gloat even more.

  He was about to storm out of the hall, when Vizier Wersu entered.

  “Vizier,” said Ramose. “I’m glad you’re here. Hatshepsut has—”

  “I have already spoken to Vizier Wersu,” said Hatshepsut.

  She turned to the vizier. “Have you considered my proposal?”

  “I have, Highness.”

  The vizier looked at Ramose uncomfortably. “I have had only a day or two to contemplate the matter.”

  “It isn’t something that requires a lot of thought, Wersu,” snapped Hatshepsut. “You either think it is a good plan or not.”

  The vizier didn’t speak straightaway. He looked at Hatshepsut. He looked at Ramose and then at the floor.

  “I have to agree with Princess Hatshepsut. An alliance like this would solve our problems in Naharin.”

  Ramose was horrified. “But I don’t want to marry anybody, especially someone I’ve never even met.”

  “Actually you have met her,” said Hatshepsut. “She was in the royal residence when you visited Naharin last year. She was presented to you.”

  Ramose bit his lip. He would have to learn not to argue with Hatshepsut. The more he wriggled the deeper the hook went in.

  “How do you—?”

  There was no point in asking. Hatshepsut had her spies everywhere. He glared at the vizier.

  “I’m glad we agree on this matter, Wersu,” said Hatshepsut. She didn’t smile, but there was a look of satisfaction in her eyes. “We’ll speak further on the matter.”

  She stood up ready to leave.

  “Oh, I almost forgot, Vizier,” she said. The corners of her mouth turned up and Ramose knew the vizier was about to become the next victim of Hatshepsut’s spite. “If you’re looking for your ‘hostage’, I have removed him from the pleasant quarters you assigned him and put him somewhere more suitable for an enemy of Egypt.” Then she left the hall.

  “I’m sorry, Excellency,” said the vizier. “I know that this is something that you don’t want to do.”

  “She wants to get rid of me and you’re helping her. Why do you side with her, even though she overrules you?”

  “My job is to serve Egypt,” replied the vizier sternly. “You have heard the news of an uprising in Libya. We are now fighting on three fronts. The army is spread thin. We are training new recruits, but that will take time. Such a marriage would put an immediate end to one conflict.”

  Ramose wasn’t convinced. “You’re under her spell just like the ministers. I’m the only one who’s willing to stand up to her.”

  “I am completely aware that the princess’s main reason for this scheme is to have you out of the way.”

  “So why are you supporting her?”

  “It is good for Egypt. If one of these rebellions can be settled without sending an army, we can concentrate our armed forces in Libya and Kush.”

  “I won’t do it.”

  “If there was any other way…”

  “I want to be here in the palace at Pharaoh’s side.”

  “Egypt is not invincible. It is your duty to do what’s best for Egypt, Ramose. Just as it is mine.” The vizier gently put his bony hand on Ramose’s shoulder. It was the first time he’d called him by his name. “I’m sorry, but we must all do what we can to avert war.”

  Ramose paced about his chamber. He felt like a caged animal, like a leopard on a leash. Karoya came into his room and sat on the bed without saying anything.

  “You’ve heard?” asked Ramose.

  “Vizier Wersu told me. He said you were angry.”

  “I’m not angry,” said Ramose, “I’m furious.” He kicked a sandal out of his way.

  “Would you like to go for a walk by the river?”

  “I’m not going to spend the rest of my life doing her bidding,” he said, ignoring Karoya.

  “Perhaps Pharaoh is free to go fishing.”

  Karoya could usually improve Ramose’s bad moods and distract him from an annoyance, but she had never known him to be so angry before.

  “She wants to rule Egypt herself,” Ramose said. “I didn’t believe it at first, but now I’m convinced.”

  Ramose’s pacing brought him up against one of the painted walls. He slapped his hands against it, as if he wished to pace right through it.

  “Everyone is frightened of her. Even Wersu.”

  “The vizier only wants what’s best for Egypt,” said Karoya.

  Ramose whipped round to face her.

  “So you’re siding with them now!”

  “I’m not. I just—”

  “Just because she gave you a bracelet once when you were still a slave, doesn’t mean you have to stand up for her forever.”

  “Ramose, I’m not—”

  “Everybody’s turned on me. I thought I could at least rely on you.”

  Ramose brushed past Karoya and stormed out of the room. There was no one left he could talk to. His friends were mesmerised by Hatshepsut. She had them all in the palm of her hand. Ramose wasn’t going to jump to her commands. He would be the one person to defy her. He stamped down the corridors, knocking a basket of figs out of the arms of a servant. He had to get back at Hatshepsut, show her she wasn’t going to rule his life.

  It took Ramose quite a while to discover where his sister had put Kashta, the rebel prisoner. The palace had been built with pleasure and comfort in mind. Even the servants’ quarters were bright and pleasant. Hatshepsut’s dedication was admirable. She had managed to find the darkest and most unpleasant room in the whole palace. It was a storeroom next to the stables.

  “I want to see the prisoner,” said Ramose to the two armed guards standing in front of the door. Where did they get such big men from? he thought, looking up at the guards towering above him.

  “Her Highness Princess Hatshepsut has said that the prisoner is not allowed to have visitors,” one of the guards said.

  Ramose had thought this might happen.

  “I have a note from her,” he said, producing a scrap of papyrus with a few words scribbled on it.

  It was actually a recipe for ibis stew that he’d picked up on his way through the kitchens. He’d rubbed lotus petals on it to make it smell as if it had come from his sister. He hoped the guards didn’t notice the cooking oil stains on it. The two big men peered at the note but, as Ramose had gambled, neither of them could read a word of it.

  “Her Highness wants the prisoner to be exercised. She doesn’t want him taking sick,” lied Ramose. “A dead hostage isn’t much use,” he added cheerfully.

  The guards reluctantly unbarred the door and Ramose entered.

  It was dark and smelly inside. It took Ramose’s eyes
a few moments to become accustomed to the dim light. There was no window and no furniture. Kashta was sitting on a scatter of straw on the floor. He blinked in the glare of light coming from the open door.

  “I thought you might be more in the mood for a visitor this time,” said Ramose smiling down at the prisoner. “I might even try and find you some better quarters. You have to promise not to throw food at me though.”

  Kashta looked at Ramose blankly. Ramose pulled the prisoner to his feet.

  “Now if you behave yourself, I’ll take you for a walk,” Ramose said. He mimed walking with his fingers.

  “I would like that,” said Kashta.

  Ramose looked at him in surprise. “I thought you couldn’t speak Egyptian.”

  “Egyptians have been ruling my country for five years,” the prisoner replied. “I would have been stupid not to learn it.”

  “Give me your word that you won’t try and escape, and we can go for a walk around the palace grounds.”

  “You have my word,” said Kashta.

  “I’ll bind your hands,” said Ramose. “Just to keep the guards happy. We don’t want them running off to tell my sister.”

  Ramose loosely bound Kashta’s hands with a length of rope. The guards watched as their prisoner strolled off down the corridor. Ramose took him out into the gardens. There was nobody around.

  Kashta looked happier than he had the last time Ramose had seen him. He breathed in the fresh air appreciatively and turned his dark face towards the sun. The sour look on his face gradually changed to a smile.

  “Everybody is resting after the midday meal,” Ramose explained. “I’ll show you the lotus pool first.”

  Ramose awoke. It was dark. “It must be the middle of the night,” he thought. His head hurt. In fact, it felt like it was about to split in two. His bed felt unusually hard. He turned over. Or at least he tried to. He couldn’t move. He was wedged up against something and his arms wouldn’t move from where they were—both behind his back.

  His cheek hurt too as if he’d bashed it on something. He tried to sit up and banged his head. He groaned with the pain. Why did his head hurt so? Slowly he realised that he wasn’t in his bed. He was lying on his side with his knees doubled up and he couldn’t straighten them. He was inside something—inside something small. It wasn’t night time either. A thin line of light was seeping in from outside whatever it was he was locked in.

  Like a bad dream, it all started to come back to him. He remembered taking Kashta out into the gardens and how pleased he’d been that the Kushite prince was so interested in the plants. He remembered how Kashta had asked all sorts of questions. How he’d apologised for his previous bad behaviour. Ramose had chattered on about all the things he’d learned in foreign lands.

  Kashta was interested in everything he said, especially all the tools and devices Ramose had learned about abroad. He wanted to see the papyrus with the list of useful foreign things. Kashta said he could only read a little, but with Ramose’s help he’d be able to understand it. Ramose had taken him to his chamber, thinking it would be good to have a friend in the palace, since everyone else had turned against him. Kashta had admired the wall paintings and the courtyard. Ramose had got out the papyrus from his elegantly carved chest and laid it on the bed…that was the last he remembered.

  It was all his own fault. Ramose couldn’t imagine how he’d been so stupid. He could hardly bear to think about it. He remembered Kashta’s polite conversation, his courteous thanks for a fig picked from a tree, his interest in Ramose’s travels. His face burned when he remembered how the Kushite rebel had been so charming and friendly. Ramose had fallen for it, like a pigeon following a trail of wheat grains into a trap. He knew where he was now. He was inside his own chest. Kashta must have hit him on the head with something, knocked him out and locked him in the chest.

  Ramose’s anger and humiliation suddenly gave way to panic. He was locked in a box. He hated confined spaces. His hands were tied behind his back. He couldn’t move. He could hardly breathe. He pushed against the lid with his feet. It didn’t shift. The lack of air and blackness was stifling. His breaths were coming short and fast. He shouted out for help. He kicked and wriggled and screamed. Surely someone would hear him. He shouted until he was hoarse. All he’d done was use up the air inside the chest. His head was spinning.

  He tried to focus his thoughts. Eventually someone would come into the chamber. Karoya would come looking for him or a servant would come to see why he hadn’t turned up for the evening meal. When it was discovered that Kashta was missing, Hatshepsut would guess it was his doing. She’d more than likely send a guard to arrest him. He might not hear them though. He couldn’t keep banging and shouting, he’d just exhaust himself and the air in the chest.

  He pictured the outside of the chest. It was kept closed by slipping a short wooden peg through four wooden rings, two on the lid, two on the chest itself. When the lid was closed the rings lined up and the peg slid through them all. It was not a strong mechanism. It was meant to keep out mice not thieves. It certainly wasn’t designed to keep prisoners in. It would be skillfully made though, like all Egyptian things. It wouldn’t break easily.

  Tied up the way he was, there was only one thing he could do. He had to try and tip the chest over. If it fell forwards there was a slim chance that the catch might break. If it didn’t, at least when servants came into the chamber they would set the chest upright. If he was awake he could call out. If he was unconscious, the unusual weight of the chest would make them open it.

  Ramose wriggled until he was lying on his back with his doubled-up knees above him. He rocked from side to side in the enclosed space. Slowly at first and then with gathering speed and force, he flung himself against first one side of the chest and then the other.

  The chest was squat and solid but it was supported on four slender legs, beautifully carved like most of the palace furniture and ending in animals’ feet.

  As he rocked, he pictured the delicate feline feet with the claws gilded with gold paint. He felt the chest lift slightly. He threw himself harder, ignoring the pain. The chest started to rock with him. Which way would it fall? He threw himself to the front of the chest with the last of his energy and the chest crashed to the floor.

  Ramose hoped that the combined weight of the box and his body on the wooden catch had smashed it. He pushed with his knees and the lid moved. He pushed again and rolled out onto the floor. He breathed in greedy mouthfuls of fresh air and slowly stretched out his aching legs. He was free, but his ordeal wasn’t over yet. Now he had to face the vizier and his sister.

  His hands were still tied tightly behind his back and his legs were aching and stinging as his blood started to circulate again. He crawled to the door and managed to get to his knees and then to his tingling feet. He grasped the door handle with his tied hands and managed to open the door. He tried to walk but his legs wouldn’t obey him. He stumbled and fell at the feet of a startled servant.

  Ramose sat slumped in a chair in Pharaoh’s audience hall. The palace physician bathed the cut on his head where Kashta had knocked him out with his own hawk-headed statue of Ra. The physician spread salve on his many bruises. A priest recited healing prayers and hung amulets around his neck.

  “I’m all right,” he said, pushing them away.

  “You don’t look all right, Ramose,” said Tuthmosis, who was peering at him with a worried look.

  There was a ring of people staring at him: his brother, his sister, the vizier, several ministers. They weren’t all wearing a worried frown like his brother, though. The vizier was thin-lipped and angry.

  “You’ve ruined Vizier Wersu’s plan to keep the Kushite rebels under control,” Hatshepsut said with more pleasure than disappointment.

  Ramose wasn’t in the mood for lectures, especially from his sister.

  “It wasn’t very nice of Kashta to knock you on the head and lock you in a chest,” said Tuthmosis.

  Ramose knew he w
as trying to be helpful, but he could do without the sort of help that pointed out how stupid he’d been.

  “And it wasn’t nice of him to take Karoya.”

  Ramose sat up. “What did you say?”

  “Karoya is missing,” said the vizier. “She hasn’t been seen since this morning.”

  “She more than likely helped him escape and has gone to join the rebels,” said Hatshepsut. “You can’t trust barbarians.”

  Ramose glared at his sister. “She would never do such a thing.”

  “Did she leave a note?” asked Tuthmosis.

  Ramose jumped to his feet and hurried to Karoya’s room, followed by the vizier, Tuthmosis and several anxious servants. Her belongings were still neatly placed around the room: her pen box, her woven reed fan and an alabaster statue of a cat that Ramose had given her.

  “She would never leave these things behind,” Ramose said. “Kashta’s kidnapped her.”

  The vizier didn’t look so sure. “We can’t be certain—”

  “I have to go to Kush,” said Ramose, hurrying towards the door as if he intended to leave immediately. “I have to find Karoya.”

  4

  OUT OF EGYPT

  Nobody wanted Ramose to go in search of Karoya. Vizier Wersu thought it was too dangerous. Tuthmosis complained about his brother leaving the palace so soon. Hatshepsut was concerned that he would not be back in time for the arrival of the Naharini princess. It took Ramose two weeks to convince everybody that he should go. Hatshepsut was the hardest to pesuade. In the end, he agreed to marry the foreign princess when he returned.

  By the time he was ready to leave, it was the beginning of akhet, the season of the inundation. Each year as summer came, the waters of the Nile started to flow faster. The river grew deeper and wider until all the surrounding farmland was flooded with dark green water. This was Ra’s gift to Egypt. When the floodwaters receded in autumn, they would leave behind a layer of black silt, rich in the goodness that would make the crops flourish.