Moses (15 page)

Moses seized his hands and pleaded, “Let me go with you, Neph! Let me go with you and out of this cursed house—even for a few weeks!”

“Gladly—and then what would you have, Moses? That your mother should go up the river alone? That all Egypt should talk about it? That what is already bad enough should become even worse? Moses—for the sake of those of us who love you, put your head up! Be a prince of Egypt! That is your only hope!”

So more hurt was added to hurt, and now he told himself that Neph, the only friend who remained, had also turned against him. For Amon-Teph came no more, and when Moses walked through the corridors of the Great House, those who saw him stood back silent and uncommitted.

As long as he could, he bore this; and then, half-mad with the bursting, tangled emotions inside him, he took his yellow horse and rode him into a staggering lather—himself exhausted, aching, but with the guilt of mistreatment of a dumb beast he loved added to the rest.

It came about finally that his mother's embalmed body was placed on a funerary boat; and, leading a procession of five other barges, it began the long, seemingly endless journey south on the Nile to Karnak. It was not as Moses had dreamt of going to Karnak—and when he came there he had no other desire than to see his mother entombed, and then to be done with the place. In any case, the God Ramses had just left Thebes to return to his name city, and the great men of Karnak were wary about pushing forth into the funerary proceedings of a sister of Ramses whose burial he specifically marked with his absence; and while Moses felt the eddy of those forces in Egypt—and specifically in Upper Egypt—that still kept alive some hope of the return of Aton, the whole god and only god, he also nourished his own contempt for their fears. In his present mood, he saw little choice between life and death; and his youth prevented any sound judgment of forces or any other distinction between foolhardiness and courage. Where he could once readily comprehend how idealistic and impractical were the plans of his mother and Amon-Teph and the other priests of Aton, his present hatred of Ramses made him feel that golden opportunities to dethrone the king had been passed over and lost. In these moods he would forget that he was the waif of a wretched slave people who lived in Goshen, and begin to believe the unfounded rumours concerning himself; and then, sliding back into the reality—the reality that became ever more marked as he matured into large-boned, long-muscled and hawk-faced manhood, he would fall prey to the black depression that had taken hold of him on the day of his mother's death. In such case, he returned down the Nile in a great retinue of boats, slaves, priests and soldiers—but with only one friend, Neph, the builder. Yet for that he was fortunate, even though he did not know it; and talking hour after hour, night after night with this plain, practical man who built what the kings would be remembered for, he not only gathered a store of knowledge and at least a little wisdom, but he began the process of calming his soul and learning the manner of acceptance and forbearance that would be so necessary in all the future years of his life. The gentle downstream journey, the soft lapping of the water in the river that had always been for him and others in the land the mother of life, the moonlit nights when the boundary ridges of the valley stood so black and beautiful, the sight again of the pyramids at Giza—all of this healed and rested him. But the dams of his soul were only fully opened after he had returned to the Great House.

It happened the day after he arrived there, when a slave came and set down in his chamber a large basket. Moses opened it, and there in a copper bowl was the head of his teacher, Amon-Teph.

Then Moses put his head in his hands and wept, opened all the dams of restraint and control, and wept, sobbing and aching—with all the grief of a boy orphaned and bereft. But when the weeping finished, he was whole again, and his anger was clear and cold and precise. He walked again like a prince of Egypt when he bore the basket in his own arms to the embalmer and told him that he must find the body and embalm both in a manner fitting, or not live long upon this earth. And when the corpse was found, Moses and Neph put the body of the old priest to its rest in a deep, rock-lined chamber in the sand, just the two of them by night.

[18]

RAMSES WAS BACK in his city and in his Great House, and once again it was the centre of the civilized world. The life of the Great House renewed itself, as it had with the end of summer so long as Moses could remember; and here again came the petty kings and lords and desert sheiks to pay homage and curry favour; the ambassadors and the diplomats of Hatti and Phoenicia and Babylon, of Philistia, and twenty other minor nations; the merchant-pirate-princes of Crete and the sea-islands, the factions overthrown by palace revolt and beseeching the God-King's aid; and the factions who desired to overthrow and also sought aid. All the indescribable colour and pageantry of the Great House resumed: the beating of the drums; the music of the pipes; the array of the finest Egyptian soldiery; the barges and sea-boats at the royal quays—the hustle and bustle and whispering and conniving of the great ones of the world assembled at the heart of the world; the white linen of the Egyptians; the leopard skins of the men of Kush; the plumed brass helmets of the Sea People waving their fans of yellow and red; the purple gowns of the Phoenicians; the tall black hats of the Hittites, coneshaped and flattened on top; the striped robes of Mesopotamia; the fringed kilts of Philistia; and the striped woollen cloaks of the Bedouins.

All this Moses saw, and yet it moved him less than it ever had. He maintained the insular superiority of the Egyptian to whom all others were barbarians; yet where Egypt had been inside him, there was now an emptiness. He who had been the least prideful of all the palace children now walked with an unconscious hauteur which would have repelled people even had they not recognized a prince from his clothes, headband and golden collar; and many a curious glance was cast at him as he strode through the palace and its gardens. Foreigners would ask who the tall, lean and bitter-faced prince was; as often as not they received no satisfactory answer. A wise man felt it was a part of wisdom, and prudence, too, not to discuss the son of Enekhas-Amon with anyone.

It was on one such occasion, walking through the gardens, that Moses found his way barred by three of the sons of Ramses. He knew them well, and one in particular he knew even better; but even concerning Ramses-em-Seti, his indifference overcame his distaste, and he made to walk around them. They shifted their position to bar his way again, and one of them said,

“Who walks so proudly must have other areas of pride as well.”

“Not necessarily,” Ramses-em-Seti pointed out, “for I have thrown my spittle in his face without wounding his pride.”

“Your spittle,” said the third, “is probably sweeter than what he is used to. Do you perfume your mouth, my brother?”

“Always.”

“I wonder whether his mother did?” the first one said.

All of this Moses listened to stolidly, only a trifle puzzled that his own irritation did not give way to anger. They had insulted him and now they were insulting his mother. He found himself unmoved.

“His mother was powerful,” Ramses-em-Sed observed. “He was a prince of Egypt while his mother lived.”

“But he's still a prince of Egypt. Notice his clothes, his bearing, his pride.”

“And his
justice
?”

“Ah, his
justice
. A quality I can't see. But his pride is apparent.”

“Do you think so?”

“Obviously.”

Ramses-em-Seti leaned forward and expectorated full in Moses' face, angry himself now and crying out, “Does your pride survive that?”

Wiping his face with the back of his hand, Moses answered coolly, “You're not very inventive in your insults. What do you expect from all this, divine cousin?”

“I expect to fight you and kill you.”

“I don't particularly care to fight you,” Moses shrugged, “and though I despise you more than you could possibly understand, I have no desire to kill any of you.”

“I don't see that your desire has much to do with it now,” said the first one, Re-em-Opet by name, the short, stout, squint-eyed result of the God Ramses' brief passion for a Libyan dwarf. “The act is done. My brother has only to tell it, and we witness it. You can hide in your chamber then, but no more walk in the palace or the gardens or the streets of the city.”

Ramses-em-Seti nodded. “Gossip has it that you were dragged out of the water. Being wet in any case, we'll call you Spittle-Moses. It will last.”

“We have appointed the place and time,” said the third one. “The old pyramid in the date palms. Do you know where it is?”

“Of course he knows, said the first one.

“At moonrise tonight. Choose any hand weapons,” said the third.

“Armour, if you wish,” the second.

They were deeply serious now, and having said this, they turned and marched away. For a while Moses stood where he was, and then he went to a bench in the shade of a fig tree and seated himself, staring moodily at the blazing, sun-drenched colours of the garden. But as he sat there his mood changed, and the more he recalled the pompous manner of Re-em-Opet, the more amused he became. Suddenly, for the first time since his mother's death, he found himself chuckling with laughter; and chuckling, reaching and picking figs and eating them, he considered the matter. When he had considered enough, he got up and went to seek Seti-Hop.

Moses found him finally in a little sunken garden, where the old man lay naked in the blazing sun, trying to soak the arthritis out of his aching joints. It was more than a year, perhaps two years, since Moses had seen the old warrior, and the prince was startled to see how small and shrivelled the man looked. In Moses' childhood, when SetiHop had taught him and his cousins the art of war, he had seemed a large man—larger for his bronze helmet that he wore so often as a mark of his authority. Now he was so skinny and small that Moses could have taken him up in his arms without difficulty.

When Moses appeared, it seemed that Seti-Hop was asleep, and so he sat on a bench to wait. But then the old man opened his eyes, squinted, shaded them to peer at Moses, and rolled over.

“Don't get up, please, Seti-Hop,” Moses said.

“Eh?” The old man lay on one elbow, watching Moses. “Greetings, Prince of Egypt. I mourn your loss. I should have come to call, but I don't interfere with palace politics, and anyway, I'm nobody.”

“You're my friend, Seti-Hop,” Moses said. “I count my friends on the fingers of one hand.”

“Oh, am I?”

“I think so. I need a friend now. The Prince Ramsesem-Seti insulted me, my mother and my origin. He also spat in my face.”

Now Seti-Hop sat up and looked at Moses shrewdly. “He did that once before, as I remember. Does he make a habit of spitting at his betters?”

“Evidently. This time, he has a purpose. He challenged me to fight him and announced he will kill me. He set the time tonight at moonrise at the old pyramid in the grove.”

“Fight you? The damned fool,” Seti-Hop yawned.

“Well, that's what he has his heart set on.”

“Tell him to go and lick a sacred cat's ass, Prince of Egypt.”

“I suppose I could, but then he'll make life in Egypt difficult. He can't go on spitting in my face and insulting me, can he?”

“I don't know,” the old soldier shrugged. “I'm not of noble blood, so I've never had those problems. Anyway, the God Ramses won't have fratricide among his sons. Buy the bastard off, you're rich enough.” And when Moses smiled, he added, “I talk as I please, Prince of Egypt. I'm old enough and dry enough to be a mummy now. I suppose you're going to fight him?”

“I don't see what else I can do.”

“What weapons?”

“Hand arms, he said. I imagine he'll use that long, iron sword of Haiti that he makes so much of.”

“And you, Prince of Egypt?”

“I'll use the Kushite stave, Seti-Hop. And I won't kill him.” Moses reached over and touched the old man's arm. “And incidentally, I am not one of the God Ramses' sons—remember that. Now will you come with me tonight?”

“No doubt I'll pay for it.” Seti-Hop grinned. “And I'll get worse from my wife than you'll ever get from the prince. But I'll come. Don't let him spit at you again, Prince of Egypt. It's a nasty habit.”

[19]

THE FIGHT WAS shorter even than Moses expected.

When he and Seti-Hop arrived on horseback at the old pyramid, a broken ruin no more than twenty feet high, with a clear space on flat ground in front of it, a considerable company were already present. Apparently, the sons of the God Ramses had no compunctions about the business, nor did they appear concerned over the consequences. At least a dozen brothers of various ages had come to witness the fight, bringing with them bread and wine and fruit, as well as their current ladies and sisters of favour. They lay about on linen coverlets, spread at the foot of the pyramid, and some of the younger ones had climbed the pyramid for better position. Slaves held torches to add to the moonlight, and a slave was completing the arming of Ramses-em-Seti, strapping on a bronze breastplate. Then he stood in breast-plate, helm and armplates, a round bronze shield on one arm, his long iron sword in hand.

Moses and Seti-Hop dismounted, the old soldier thrusting the six-foot-long, black-ebony stave into the soft ground, while he and Moses dropped their cloaks. Grinning at Ramses-em-Seti, the old man muttered,

“Look at that, Moses, a prudent, carefully-protected man, to carve your gizzard.”

And he continued to grin as they walked forward, Moses naked to a loincloth, contemptuous in his manner as well as in his dress and arms. It was not only for agility and ease that he had come without arms, but very much because he expected that his cousin would be armed from head to foot. He had been nervous but not afraid, and now, seeing the sprawling representation of regal blood, stuffing their mouths with food or making love or drinking wine, sharpening their wit with clever aphorisms that they underlined with significant glances in his direction, his uneasiness turned to disdain. Until now he had regarded his cousins with the same objective acceptance of existence that he exercised toward the palace. They were there—as they had always been. But now, suddenly, his mood changed to profound disgust. Better to be of the blood of the slave people, he told himself; and, as he looked at them, he understood that he had never seen them before. His face, from contempt and amusement, set in anger and bitterness; and Seti-Hop, seeing this, nodded with relief. He knew of no substitute for hatred in a death fight. Seti-Hop then handed Moses the black stave, which he hefted and then let rest against his neck while he spat on his hands and rubbed them dry.