Ramses rested on the royal barge, ankles crossed, one finger covering his lips, and considered the growing Hebrew threat to Egypt. His experiment with Nege’s daughter, Shiphrah, and her aunt had failed. They had proven to be either incompetent or disobedient. Alternate action was required—action that did not depend upon squeamish women. He must determine how to keep his beloved land safeguarded. If ma’at was disturbed, his Egypt would be rendered weak. Ma’at, the divine order and truth established at creation, was not to be tampered with.
A sphinx guarded him, the god-king, at the prow, and in the boat’s stern two bronze bulls looking in opposite directions stood with lowered heads ready to battle any threat. On each side of the barge, nine men dipped their oars in rehearsed rhythm, the wooden vessel gliding smoothly through the water.
It was quiet here—away from the noise of the palace, away from the smells of a crowd—and cooler, the river breezes catching and lifting his thin linen kilt. He wished Nefertari had been able to join him.
Pink clouds faded to gray before they dissolved in the darkening sky. Once again the scarab-beetle god, Khepera, had completed his daily toil of rolling the sun from the east to the west.
Ramses motioned for a return to the dock. He did not want to stay out too late and risk being caught by the night demons or body snatchers. As mighty a warrior as he knew himself to be, he was no match for their powers. The barge turned sluggishly as the oarsmen fought against the current to return to shore.
Ramses watched a lone egret swoop near the river’s surface in search of a late meal. Strange that the fowl would venture out this late. Did the gods send a message? He straightened in sudden revelation.
The egret was like the Hebrews, expecting Egypt to be an easy conquest or simply vanish. They would appear when least expected, stealing the treasures and decimating or dividing his country, destroying ma’at.
The last of the day’s light stretched across the west. This, the land of eternal life, holding the tombs and temples of the gods who ruled before him, was a sacred place. He refused to stand by and see it destroyed. He dared not permit the kings to cease to exist, their names lost forever. Ma’at must be observed, or chaos would reign.
His own tomb and temple were being built in the west at Deir el-Medina. Ramses tightened his jaw. He lived forever only if his name remained known, carved for all time on his tomb and the temple walls. He would not allow a pack of sheep lovers to jeopardize his right to immortality in the afterlife.
The egret circled again, and Ramses traced its flight through half-closed eyes. He could almost feel the shepherds creeping around, tightening their hold around his Egypt. As he watched the fowl swoop near the dark water, a flash of brown emerged from the surface, snatching the bird from the air. The egret was no more. The predator had itself become prey, an evening morsel for the ever-watchful crocodile.
Ramses rubbed the bridge of his long, thin nose and dipped his head in silent acknowledgment. Once again the gods showed their pleasure with him, guiding him to understand their message. They would save this glorious land. The river itself would curb the Hebrew threat to Egypt, and Sobek, the crocodile god, would be well pleased, well fed. So appropriate—was it not?—that the Lord of the Waters who created the Nile from his sweat should be the savior of Egypt.
The oarsmen brought the royal barge skillfully against the dock where two slaves holding a wooden walkway waited to slide it between the deck and shore. Ramses disembarked without waiting for assistance and mounted the double flight of steps, eager to inform the priests of the river god’s message. He would order another gold bracelet placed on the arm of his favorite pet crocodile.
Wind swirled across the fountain, lifting water and irreverently spraying the Commander of the Two Lands, Pharaoh, Horus. Hardened to the elements since childhood, he took no notice, his mind focused on the divisional commander who bowed before him.
“No Hebrew male is to live past three months of age. Now go, reduce the rabble,” Pharaoh said.
“My lord, it will be as you command.”
“The future of Egypt may lie within your hands,” Pharaoh said. “Spare not one, just as I have directed.” Pharaoh’s gaze bored into the man’s expressionless eyes.
“This … safeguarding of Egypt will occur every three months until I determine it is no longer necessary. The horde will be stopped. Egypt must not be harmed by these sly invaders.”
Ramses stared at the rippling water. He had set into motion the saving of Egypt. He could not change it any more than he could stop the river’s flow with his voice.
He must not change it. Uncertainty equaled weakness. Rejecting doubt, he strode away. He was a god as his fathers before him. All he did was good for his country. All he did was right. As news of this action surged beyond Egypt’s borders, all would know he, Ramses the Great, was a ruler of stone, crushing any who threatened Egypt.
If Egypt ceased to exist, if his name disappeared from the land, he and his fathers would cease to exist. Talons of fear clawed his chest. Sensing another’s presence, he spun, on guard, as laughter sprinkled the air.
“My lord.”
Always her beauty calmed him. Did others know she was his only weakness? He denied her nothing, ever.
“Nefertari, you challenge the sun with your loveliness.”
“Will you eat with us, my Ramses? The temple musicians wait on your pleasure.”
He turned and faced the commander. “I have spoken. Go.”
The commander bowed. “I hear and obey.”
The pharaoh snorted at such nonsense. Of course he would obey—immediately and absolutely—or the man’s family would finish their days in the dust of the mines.