He couldn’t get his foolish agreement out of his mind for a second. Although Assou’s footsteps echoed and the shadows crept gently at his feet, he couldn’t distract himself from the fact he had agreed. He had listened to the words of a strange boy – a being who had presumably given himself the name of a deity. Maged. Yet this child shared little with these glamorous figures.
Pressing his lips together, Assou wiped his damp hands on the shendyt. The odour of the previous day no longer clung to his body, yet every sensation still lingered in his bones. His sluggish gait made shuffling noises, and the patter of his feet sounded like drops of water. His thoughts could hardly focus on anything other than Maged and simultaneously the certainty he was doing it for Fatrada came to the fore. He had to free her, give her a new life, reconcile with her so he could hold her tightly in his arms. Everything so that one day she would be his.
He snorted.
She shouldn’t be his; she shouldn’t look like a possession to be proudly displayed to others. And yet – although the soft throbbing in his chest seemed sweet – he wanted her for himself. She shouldn’t belong to anyone but him. Once Maathorneferure was out of the picture, there was hope of winning Fatrada’s favour again. She was no longer married. There was no man to stand in his way. He could woo her with a clear conscience. All thanks to a woman who could have nothing more in common with the ugliest diseases in existence and yet for whom that unyielding, unwilling sound in his head begged for gratitude. Maathorneferure had taken from him the very thing that had blocked his path. Without Nagib, there was no reason for Fatrada to be faithful to anyone. She had fulfilled her duties as a woman. No one would blame her if she became someone else’s wife. No one would object if she fell into the hands of the vizier.
It was a ridiculous thought. A future he clung to, even though it was so far away, it almost seemed like a dream. Yet every word of his thoughts was like lead on his tongue. Forcing Fatrada into a position she didn’t want was wrong; and yet it was the only right thing to do.
With a loud sigh, the tjati ran both hands down his face before pushing the dark clouds of discord away and clinging to something else. The preparations to get rid of Maathorneferure were of greater importance than distant thoughts, which he could devote himself to for countless days afterwards.
The pharaoh’s hall shrouded him in glorious splendour shortly afterwards and the silence in which Ramesses sat alone on his throne clung like days gone by to every figure that entered. The pharaoh rested his head on one hand, his eyes half closed. The guards were nowhere to be seen and the gentle smell of a scented candle enveloped his senses. It was a fragrance that Assou couldn’t categorise and yet recognised as a spice.
Before ascending to the throne, he dropped to one knee and bowed. However, it took a moment for Ramesses to recognise him.
“Vizier.” His head rose slowly before he assumed an upright position. “Is there any news?”
“Not much, my pharaoh.” Assou raised his head. “Preparations for the feast are underway. An idea has come to me that I would like to share with you.”
Ramesses’ interest visibly increased as he shifted forward in his seat. Conversations demanding a part of him were better than sitting around and enjoying solitude. “What is your concern?”
“Maathorneferure is a young woman who hasn’t yet had a child with you, my pharaoh. Now we want to organise a feast in honour of Meritamen. But what if we combine this festival with a fertility festival to make Maathorneferure fertile for a child?”
The humming leaving Ramesses’ throat brought neither approval nor enthusiasm. His face remained fixed, his gaze directed far into the distance, before he nodded slowly. “That’s an excellent idea. Arrange whatever you see fit. But make sure Meritamen doesn’t get swallowed up in all this. The feast is for her and only then for Maathorneferure.”
“As you wish.” Assou bowed his head once more before rising and taking a few steps backwards in a half bow. Only then did he turn away and disappear back into the corridors of the palace in an upright manner.
It wasn’t difficult to convince Ramesses. He was the kind of ruler who could be controlled if you only pretended to dependent on him. This also made him an excellent king for keeping peace. War wasn’t something he was keen on – especially not at his age. Instead, he favoured the comfortable circumstances of the palace and forged connections far more important than any battle they could have fought.
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It made the tjati groan once more. Losing Maathorneferure would be a setback in this case, but it was inevitable. There were enough illnesses to serve as an excuse. No one would stand against the Egyptian Empire if there was no culprit behind Maathorneferure’s death. No one longed for a battlefield. That was the big advantage. It let Assou get away with it.
“Are you looking for me, or have you already forgotten about my presence?”
Instantly, Assou stopped and turned round. Behind him, leaning comfortably against a wall, was Maged. His arms crossed in front of his slim chest, he had raised his brows and tilted his head. His entire existence conveyed the allure of divine intervention, and yet the vizier wasn’t surprised. Instead, he turned to the boy. “Neither of those things.”
“Well then, if it was neither, what is it now?” The grin on the child’s features mocked, but barely reached Assou.
“You can go about your business and visit the land where Maathorneferure grew up. Bring me as much negative information about her as you can find and return with her parents for the feast as soon as possible,” Assou demanded. “Don’t get caught and try not to attract attention.”
“I understand, Vizier.” With a giggle on his lips, Maged pushed himself away from the wall and aimed for the exit. Assou looked after him, watching as the tiny figure eventually disappeared from his field of vision and left him behind.
It was everything he could have wished for. His countermovement was on fire and whatever Maathorneferure planned next, he would see it through to judge her in the end. If the battles were hers, the war was on his side.
Pursing his lips, he exhaled softly and remained trapped in his position for a moment longer before going about his own business. His plan was working as he had expected. Step by step. Even if a few unexpected components had been added, it was going better than expected.
No one was waiting for him in his study. The only thing greeting him were the endless papyrus scrolls looking at him as if he had committed a crime. Without further ado, he picked up the first of them, read through the contents, and was ultimately left with a snort. The slaves were still dying like flies and the hoped-for replenishment didn’t last long. If things continued like this, it would be the upper classes who would end up having to bear the pharaoh’s burdens. He had no choice but to turn on his heel and make his way back, straight to the front of the palace, over to the royal stables where the court’s valuable horses were kept. The guards at the entrance greeted him, dull and irrelevant. It wasn’t enough to elicit more than a nod before he went to the first horse and led it out of the stables. They were all tame, and even if he didn’t get on with a few of them, the mare he had chosen was one of the more endearing creatures.
Without further ado, he mounted and let the horse walk a few metres before looking down at himself. He should have put on shoes to ward off the dirt and look more formal. But the uncomfortable leather cramped his feet and just the thought of having to wear it for half the day sent a shiver down his spine. The light blue tunic on his body and the gold bracelets had to be enough to represent status and power.
“Which way, Vizier?” A guard crept close to him, spear firmly in hand.
“I need to inspect the construction of the latest wish of our lord and Pharaoh Ramsses II,” the tjati replied slowly. “And yes, I need two guards to accompany me.”
He couldn’t be too careful. In this city, he might get away unseen or intimidate people, but outside, people were getting wilder. It was no secret that rich travellers were robbed and that even the slaves liked to grab things that didn’t belong to them.
The guard who had addressed him waved a hand to two other men who had already led two horses out of the stables to mount up. Assou only gave them a quick glance before turning round and nodding to the man. Then he gave the horse the command to run off; a swift movement causing the animal’s body to rebel before it obeyed. At a gallop, the mare carried him along the path, away from the palace, straight into no-man's-land within countless moments. Dust swirled up, labourers passed him insignificantly, and the sand surrounding them shone under the strong, hot rays of the day’s sun.
The ride to the construction site, where Ramesses’ latest desire was being realised, took less than half a day’s ride. The horses flew over the land with such ease Assou thought he would arrive in the blink of an eye, even though the heat made him sweat under his clothes.
There wasn’t much to see of what was to be created. Hundreds of slaves heaved stones, stacked them and had them lifted into the air on specially designed structures. There was a solid stone floor and three pillars reaching so far into the sky the sun was blinding. The size of the structure stretched three hundred paces in length and at least three hundred more in width.
“It has the charm of a ruin,” Assou said quietly as he let his gaze wander. Over the beginnings of a royal tomb, over countless heads and emaciated bodies, in search of the supervision that couldn’t be found far and wide.
The horses moved forward at a leisurely pace, passing toiling slaves who, completely naked, knew only the dirt for clothing. Sweat made their bodies glisten under the burning sun of Re. Assou scrutinised every one of them, noting protruding ribs and dead eyes. The shaky legs of old people. Weak arms of young boys who seemed just old enough to do their first shopping alone.
In the distance, a clapping sound came through to him, painful groans alongside snide gasps. It was a sound he followed, tumbling further into the centre of the crowd to catch sight of the overseer amidst the stone supplies – a tall man in clean shendyt and an airy tunic. No jewellery. All that adorned him was the whip in his hands.