Beneath the morning’s benevolent sun, Pharaoh studied the progress of the stable expansion he had ordered. Pleased, he walked the entire length of the courtyard to examine each of the six rows of buildings. It was perfect, naturally, as were all his designs.
Ramses, god of Egypt, beloved of Amun, son of Seti, did not make mistakes. He may receive new information from other gods and revise certain orders, but he himself was never wrong. His encounter with Nege confirmed this. Ramses stretched. He congratulated himself on his handling of the revengeful priest and his insight into the man’s character.
People were as easy to control as horses. They simply required different reins or a subtle bit, and then they were his to control.
Nege, though pompous with his reinstatement at the Karnak temple complex, had worked effectively to oversee the completion of the massive columns of the hypostyle hall. Soon he would be of no use to Ramses, and he would pay for giving Ramses faulty advice about the midwives. His informers assured him Nege’s personal wealth steadily increased.
Ramses curled his lip. He did not like the man and would be glad to have nothing else to do with him—ever again.
Ramses tested the iron ring embedded within the tether stones. He nodded his satisfaction. Masterful design. Not even his most powerful stallion could loosen it. He ran his hand over a limestone basin, smiled, and moved to the next basin. Since this project was well under way, he must begin to implement his next design. Abu Simbel had begun, and as the hypostyle hall was nearing completion … A perverse smile shadowed Ramses’s face.
Once the hypostyle hall was completed, Nege might find himself at a loss for something to occupy his time. Perhaps he’d attempt to continue enriching himself at Egypt’s expense. As his sovereign king, Ramses felt a certain obligation to help Nege … relocate. Nege had managed the available resources to become inexcusably wealthy and obnoxiously pregnant looking.
Pharaoh leaned on a gate and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. He must send Nege a suitable reward for excellent service before he parted Nege and his wealth. Perhaps a gold-handled knife engraved with words of appreciation. Yes, a pointed message of gratitude sent from Ramses, a thank-you driven straight through to Nege’s heart. Then the wealth could be rechanneled into Egypt’s—his—coffers.
The sound of running feet broke through his thoughts. Always alert to the danger of assassination, Ramses drew his dagger and spun around, bracing himself to fight.
“Paapaaaa.” Having wrenched free of his tutor, the young prince raced across the courtyard, throwing himself against his father’s muscled legs.
Ramses noted his son required a new tutor. This one was evidently inept, unable to discipline or to restrain his royal pupil. The stable complex, home to more than four hundred horses, was not the place for a child—at least his child—to run unrestrained.
Ramses hid his displeasure from the boy, swung him up in his arms, and set the child on one of the tether stones.
“Shall we visit Victory-at-Thebes?” At the boy’s nod, he questioned his son’s knowledge. “Very well. Is he a warhorse, a hunting horse, or a horse for pleasure riding?”
“Warhorse.”
“Good.” The boy jumped down, and the two royals approached one of the buildings connected to the vast courtyard. “This is Victory-at-Thebes’s kingdom. Have you brought a worthy gift to offer him, a bribe to entreat his pleasure?”
“No, but you will find one for me, won’t you?”
Ramses laughed. “As you wish.” He reached into a nearby basin, scooped a bit of corn, and poured it into his son’s hand. Ramses ignored the tutor who trailed behind them. He kept one hand on his son’s shoulder as they walked past eleven stalls to the corner at the end of the building.
The powerful stallion stamped his foot and shook his head, eyeing his visitors as if deciding whether or not he should acknowledge them. With a swish of his tail, he stepped to the gate and waited, the sensitive nostrils flaring, his ears perked forward.
Ramses picked up his son and held the small hand flat. “Always keep your hand open so the horse can eat without nipping your fingers. Good.”
“Can I ride, Papa?”
“Not Victory-at-Thebes. Keep in mind he’s a warhorse. Remember the chariot I showed you? Yes? He pulls my chariot. He’s not for little boys, not even a prince.”
To dispel the disappointment on the child’s face, Ramses lifted him to one shoulder. “Someday you will have your own chariot horse. Would you like that?”
The boy’s face brightened.
“I was a captain in my father’s army when I was ten. Soon you will be accompanying me on campaigns just as I did with your grandfather, Seti.”
“Where did you fight, Papa?”
“I fought with my father in Nubia and Libya.”
“Who won?”
“Why, we did, of course. Does your tutor not teach that Egypt is the greatest power on earth? Egypt is always victorious, no matter what it takes.” Ramses thrust out his jaw as he shoved away the memory of the prophecy. “No foreign god, no boastful army can stand against her.”
The boy was quiet for a few moments and then asked, “Papa, you are a good archer, aren’t you?”
“I am the strongest and most accurate archer there has ever been or will be.”
“Will you teach me to be the best?”
Ramses nodded. “Of course, my son.”
“Is it hard? How did you learn?”
“I shall tell you a secret, but you must not tell anyone. Do you agree to silence?”
The boy gave a solemn nod.
“When I was a boy like you, my mother, your grandmother Tiya, had a large fishpond in her living quarters. It was filled with fish of every color and size. Blue ones, striped ones, even one that swam upside down—no, truly! Its belly was dark and its back pale. Some of the fish were quite rare like that one. She’d been collecting them for a long time. One day while she was sleeping, I took my bow and a quiver full of arrows to the pond and shot each and every fish until I had killed them all. That is how I began to become the best.”
“Was your mother angry?”
“Oh, very angry, especially when she saw the arrows were mine.”
“So you were in trouble?”
His father laughed. “No, not at all. I told her my slave did it. I don’t think she believed me, but she had him killed.”