Fighter, Ramses' pet lion, let out a roar that froze both the Egyptians and the rebel foe in their tracks. The huge beast wore a fine gold collar, his award for valor in battle against the Hittites at Kadesh. He was twelve feet long and weighed more than six hundred pounds; a thick mane flared around his head, neck, shoulders, and upper chest. His tawny coat was sleek.

For leagues in every direction, Fighter's fury resounded. Clearly, his fury echoed that of Ramses, the young pharaoh whose victory at Kadesh had made him Ramses the Great.

Yet had he earned true greatness, when with all of his stature the Hittites continued to defy him?

The Egyptian army had proved disappointing in combat. The generals, cowardly or incompetent, had abandoned Ramses, leaving him to face the enemy single-handed, one man against a host of thousands, certain that victory was theirs. But the god Amon, concealed in the light, had heard the pharaoh's prayer and endowed his son with supernatural strength.

After five tumultuous years as Pharaoh, Ramses had believed the defeat at Kadesh would humble the Hittites for years to come and that the entire region would enter into an era of relative peace.

He had been sadly mistaken-- he, the Mighty Bull, beloved of Ma'at, Lord of the Two Lands, Son of Light! Did he deserve his coronation names when sedition continued to brew in Canaan and southern Syria, Egypt's traditional protectorates? Now the Hittites not only refused to submit, but furthermore had launched a vast offensive. Their latest allies were the Bedouins, a people of pillaging murderers who cast a covetous eye on the rich Nile Delta.

The commander of Ramses' Ra division approached him.

"Your Majesty, the situation is more critical than expected. This is no ordinary rebellion. According to our scouts, all of Canaan is up in arms against us. Once we get over the first hurdle, another one will turn up, and then another ..."

"And you're afraid we can't go the distance?"

"Our losses may be heavy, Your Majesty, and the men have no wish to die needlessly."

"Egypt's survival should be a good enough reason."

"I didn't mean to imply ..."

"That's what you're thinking, though. You generals learned nothing from Kadesh. Why must I always be stuck with cowards who lose their lives in the process of trying to save them?"

"My obedience to you is beyond question, Your Majesty, like that of my fellow commanders. We were only trying to alert you."

"Has our intelligence network found information on Ahsha?"

"No, I'm sorry to say, Your Majesty."

Ahsha, the king's boyhood friend and newly appointed secretary of state, had been waylaid by the Prince of Amurru.[*] Had Ahsha been tortured? Was he still alive? Would his captors use the diplomat as a valuable pawn?

[*Modern-day Lebanon.]

As soon as he learned the news in a coded message from Ahsha, Ramses had mobilized his troops, still reeling from Kadesh. To rescue Ahsha, they would have to travel through territory once again hostile to Egypt. The local rulers had flouted their oaths of allegiance and sold themselves to the Hittites in exchange for precious metal and hollow promises. Who wouldn't dream of invading the land of the pharaohs and exploiting its reputedly inexhaustible riches?

Ramses the Great had ambitious projects to oversee in Egypt-- the Ramesseum (his mortuary Temple of Millions of Years at Thebes); additions to the temples at Karnak, Luxor, and Abydos; his final resting place in the Valley of the Kings; and now Abu Simbel, the poem in stone he planned as a gift to his beloved wife, Nefertari. Yet here he stood on a hilltop overlooking the first fortress within the borders of Canaan, observing the enemy position.

"Your Majesty, if I may say ..."

"Out with it, General."

"Your show of force is most impressive. I'm convinced that Emperor Muwattali has already gotten the message and will free Ahsha any day."

Muwattali, the Hittite emperor, was a ruthless and cunning ruler, well aware that sheer force was the basis of his power. Kadesh had shattered the unprecedented Near Eastern coalition he had put together, but Muwattali would never stop trying to conquer Egypt, even if it meant resorting to deals with the Bedouins and third-party rebels.

Only Muwattali's death-- or Ramses'-- would put an end to the conflict, and the future of the entire region hinged on it. If Egypt fell, a Hittite military dictatorship would clamp down on the Two Lands-- the Twin Kingdoms of upper and lower Egypt-- destroying a civilization that had lasted more than a thousand years, since the days of the first pharaoh, Menes.

Ramses' thoughts strayed to Moses, another close friend from his school days. Wanted for murder, the Hebrew had fled the country. Could he be hiding somewhere in this desert? While serving as chief builder of Pi-Ramses, the new capital Ramses founded in the Delta, Moses had become a leader to his people. Some claimed he'd formed a rebel faction, but Ramses refused to believe that Moses could ever become his enemy.

"Your Majesty, are you listening?"

He looked the general in the eye. A typical officer, well fed, battle-shy, and intent on preserving his rank. The man reminded him of the person he hated most in the world: Shaanar, his older brother. The traitor had allied himself with the Hittites in the hope of seizing the throne of Egypt. While being transferred from the main Memphis prison to a desert penal colony, Shaanar had escaped in a blinding sandstorm. Ramses believed that his brother was still alive and up to no good.

"Prepare your troops for combat, General."

The commander sheepishly took his leave.

Ramses wished he could be spending the day in a garden with Nefertari, his son, and their daughter. He much preferred the simple pleasures, far from the clash of arms. Yet only he could save his country from the thundering, bloodthirsty hordes poised to pull down the temples and destroy law and order. The stakes were higher than his personal fate. He had no right to consider his own comfort, to think of his family. He must keep Egypt safe from harm, even if it cost him his life.

Ramses studied the fort blocking the route that led into the heart of Canaan. The tall walls sloped on both sides, protecting a sizable garrison. In the battlements, archers waited. The ditches were filled with pottery shards to cut the feet of soldiers advancing to erect the ladders.

A sea breeze cooled the Egyptian troops, who were huddled between two sun-drenched hills. The pace of their march had been grueling, with brief rest stops in makeshift camps. Only the well-paid mercenaries were ready and willing to do battle. The young recruits, already exhausted and homesick, were afraid of losing their lives in gruesome combat. Everyone hoped that Pharaoh would settle for shoring up the northeastern border rather than heading into a full-fledged campaign that might prove disastrous.

Not long before, the governor of Gaza (the capital of Canaan) had hosted a splendid banquet for the Egyptian high command, swearing never again to side with the cruel and barbaric Hittites. At the time, his obvious hypocrisy had turned Ramses' stomach. Today, his betrayal hardly surprised the pharaoh; at twenty-eight, Ramses knew all too well what lurked in the hearts of men.

The lion again began to roar, growing restless.

Fighter had changed since the day Ramses had found him as a cub in the Nubian grasslands, hovering near death from a cobra bite. A bond had been forged between them on the spot. Luckily Setau had been along on that journey. Another friend of Ramses' since their school days, Setau had gone on to become a snake charmer and a healer. His remedies and the lion cub's remarkable constitution had allowed Fighter to survive and grow into a magnificent specimen, a bodyguard any king would envy.

Ramses stroked Fighter's mane. The beast remained edgy.

Now Setau came heading up the hill, dressed in his working costume of antelope skins. The tunic's multiple pockets were stuffed with powders, pills, and vials. The man was of average height, stocky and square-jawed, dark and stubbly. His passion for snakes and scorpions had only increased in adulthood. The venom he harvested became strong medicine. With his stunning Nubian wife, Lotus, he now directed the palace laboratories.

Ramses had once more asked the pair to head the army's medical service. They had taken part in all the king's military campaigns, not out of any love for war, but to help the wounded and collect a few snakes in the bargain. The soldiers were delighted to have the lovely Lotus along, and Setau wanted to be close at hand in case anything happened to his friend Ramses.

"Morale isn't what it should be," Setau reported.

"The generals want to turn back," admitted Ramses.

"Considering how your commanders behaved at Kadesh, is that any wonder? The decision will be yours alone, as usual."

"I'm not alone, Setau. I have the sun and the wind to counsel me, the spirit of my lion and the voice of the earth. They never lie. The trick is to understand what they're telling me."

"There's no better war council."

"Have you consulted your snakes?"

"Of course I have. They know all the secrets. This time they were straightforward: don't turn back. What's making Fighter so nervous?"

"That oak grove over there to the left, about halfway to the fort."

Chewing on a reed stem, Setau looked where the king was pointing.

"I don't like the look of it, either. An ambush, like Kadesh?"

"That one worked so well that the Hittites may have decided to try it again. When we attack, we'll be brought up short, while the archers mow us down from the battlements."

Menna, Ramses' chariot driver and shield bearer, bowed to the king.

"Your chariot is ready, Your Majesty."

The king stopped to pat his two horses, Victory in Thebes and the Goddess Mut Is Satisfied. Besides Fighter, they were the only ones who stayed by his side at Kadesh when the battle seemed all but lost.

Ramses took the reins, to the incredulous stares of his driver, the generals, and the crack chariot regiment.

"Your Majesty," stammered Menna, "you're not going to ..."

"Let's swing to the left of the fort," ordered the king, "and bear down on that oak grove."

"Wait, Your Majesty! You're forgetting your coat of mail!"

Waving a corselet covered with small metal disks, the driver ran helplessly behind the chariot. Ramses was heading straight for the enemy, alone.