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prince was eager to see where he figured in it. Rank was not
what he wanted, only the chance to fight.
 You re finally back! Where s the list?
Ahmeni hung his head.
 What s the matter?
 Read it yourself.
By royal decree, Shaanar was named standard-bearer, to
ride at the right hand of Pharaoh. Ramses name was
nowhere to be found.
Every barracks in Memphis was on war alert. The next
morning, the infantry and charioteers would start for Syria,
with the king himself in command.
Ramses hung around headquarters all day long. When
his father left the council room, at nightfall, the prince
dared approach him.
 May I beg a favor, Highness?
 Speak.
 I want to go with you.
 My decree is final.
 I don t care about being an officer. I only want a chance
to destroy the enemy.
Ramses: The Son of Light 133
 Then my decision was correct.
 I don t understand.
 It s pointless to wish for something unrealistic. To win
a war, you must know how to fight. That s not the case with
you, Ramses.
Once he recovered from his frustration and disap-
pointment, Shaanar was not displeased with his new
assignment, a fine addition to his string of honors.
Furthermore, a future pharaoh was required to prove
himself in battle, a tradition since the days of the First
Dynasty. A king must be able to defend his territory and
resist invasion. However deplorable Shaanar considered
this, the people viewed it as essential. Shaanar therefore
bowed to necessity. The situation seemed almost amusing
when he spotted Ramses staring longingly as the van-
guard marched by.
The army going off to war, like any exceptional event,
was cause for celebration. A holiday was declared and any
potential worry for the troops was drowned in beer. It was
virtually certain that Seti would return victorious.
Despite his newfound status, Shaanar was uneasy. In
battle, even the best-prepared soldier could be caught
off guard. Imagining himself wounded or disabled made
him feel sick. At the front, his first concern would be
self-preservation. Danger could be left for the profes-
sionals.
Once again, luck was with him. During this campaign he
would have the chance to talk with his father and plan for
the future. That prospect made it worth the effort, no
134 Christian Jacq
matter how trying it might prove to leave behind the com-
forts of palace life.
Ramses disappointment was an excellent send-off.
The provincial recruits annoyed Bakhen. When war was
imminent, volunteers signed up in droves, dreaming of feats
of danger and foreign lands. But this bunch of backward
peasants would never make it past the outskirts of
Memphis. They would soon head back to their fields. As
chief inspector of the royal stables, Bakhen was also in
charge of training new soldiers.
He was exceptionally strong, with a short beard out-
lining his square jaw. All the volunteers obeyed when he
ordered them to lift a sack full of stones, hoist it over their
right shoulders, and run around the barracks until he told
them to stop.
The process of elimination was harsh and swift. Few of
them knew how to pace themselves. Panting, the dropouts
put down their sacks. Bakhen waited until fifty or so were
left before he stopped them.
He couldn t believe his eyes. One recruit looked familiar,
a head or more taller than the other runners, and far less
winded.
 Prince Ramses! You don t belong here.
 I want to complete basic training and get my certificate.
 But . . . you don t need one! All you d have to do is 
 I don t think that s fair, and neither do you. A sheet of
papyrus doesn t make a soldier.
Caught unawares, Bakhen twisted the leather band
accentuating the size of his biceps.
Ramses: The Son of Light 135
 This is tricky . . .
 You re not afraid, are you?
 Me, afraid? Get back there with the others.
For three interminable days, Bakhen pushed the men to
the outer limits of their endurance. Twenty made the cut.
Ramses was one of them.
On the fourth day, they were introduced to weapons:
bludgeons, swords, and shields. After a brief explanation of
their use, Bakhen let the young men start sparring.
When one of them got his arm hurt, Ramses laid his
sword on the ground. The others followed suit.
 What do you think you re doing? roared Bakhen.  Get
back to work, or clear out of here!
The recruits did as told. Anyone slow or clumsy was dis-
missed. Out of the original contingent, only twelve would
continue to train as professional soldiers.
Ramses was still in the running, his enthusiasm unflag-
ging through the next ten days of drills.
 I need an officer, Bakhen announced on the eleventh
morning.
All but one of the trainees showed equal ability in han-
dling an acacia bow that could shoot an arrow fifty yards in
open fire.
Pleasantly surprised, Bakhen produced a much taller
bow, its front reinforced with horn, then placed a copper
ingot a hundred and fifty yards from the archers.
 Take this bow and pierce the target.
Most of them barely managed to bend the bow. Two
shot the arrow, but fell far short of the target.
Ramses was last in line; like his fellow recruits, he was
allowed three tries. Bakhen eyed him ironically.
 A prince should never become a laughingstock. Better
archers than you have already failed the test.
136 Christian Jacq
Intent, Ramses focused on the target until nothing else
existed.
Bending the bow took a major effort. His muscles
aching, Ramses pulled the ox-tendon bowstring.
His first shot landed to the left of the target. Bakhen
snorted.
Ramses exhaled. Without drawing a new breath, he sent
the second arrow sailing right over the copper ingot.
 Last chance, Bakhen reminded him.
The prince closed his eyes for more than a minute and
visualized the target, convincing himself it was not so far
away, that he was becoming the arrow, that all the arrow
wanted was to enter the heart of the ingot.
The third shot was a deliverance. The arrow whizzed
through the air like an angry hornet and went straight
through the target.
His comrades cheered. Ramses handed the longbow
back to Bakhen.
 I ve added one more test, the instructor announced.
 Hand-to-hand combat, with me.
 Is that standard procedure?
 It s my procedure.
 Give me my officer s certificate.
 First fight me and show you re a match for a real sol-
dier.
Ramses was taller than Bakhen, but lighter and much less
experienced. He would have to rely on lightning reflexes.
The instructor attacked without warning. The prince
dodged him, but Bakhen s fist grazed his shoulder. Five
times running, the instructor hit thin air. Incensed, he
finally grabbed his opponent s left leg and knocked him
down. Ramses broke loose with a kick to Bakhen s face and
a quick chop to the back of his neck.
Ramses: The Son of Light 137
Ramses thought the fight was over, but Bakhen was not
about to give up so easily. He staggered to his feet and
rammed his head into the prince s chest.
Iset the Fair daubed her lover s torso with a salve so
effective the pain was becoming bearable.
 I have the healer s touch, wouldn t you say?
 I d say I was stupid.
 The brute could have killed you.
 He was doing his job. I thought I had him. At the front,
I d be dead.
Iset rubbed him more gently, reaching lower.  I m so glad [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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