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To be a little different from the usual
'meet the author'
'meet the author'
let's meet a
character...
RAMOSE, the High Priest of Ptah
from
Khamsin, The Devil Wind of The Nile
(A Novel of Ancient Egypt)
The ugly Vizier Ebu al-Saqqara was the scourge of my existence from day one. Can you blame me that I called on all my magic powers (all right, tricks if you will), to outsmart the man’s chicanery and expose him as a traitor to the Two Lands. Pardon me if I am smirking. I just reminded myself of his ultimate fate. Uncharitable, I confess, but ah, the memory still feels good.
character...
RAMOSE, the High Priest of Ptah
from
Khamsin, The Devil Wind of The Nile
(A Novel of Ancient Egypt)
Q: Hello, I’m Helen, host of Novel Conversations, please do make yourself comfortable. Would you like a drink? Wine? You’ll find a box of dried apricots and a bowl of fresh fruit on the table next to you, please do help yourself. I believe you are a character in Inge H. Borg’s novel Khamsin, The Devil Wind of the Nile. Would you like to introduce yourself? Are you a lead character or a supporting role?
A: May Horus spread his wings over you, Mistress Helen, and may Ma’at bestow upon you her virtues of truth, harmony and order.
I am Ramose, High Priest of Ptah, at King Aha’s First Dynasty court in Ancient Egypt. Indeed, I am very much a lead character; you might even say my actions ultimately influence the novel’s story –especially its ending.
Q: What genre is the novel and what is it about?
A: Historical Fiction, you call it these days. I tell you, though, while the characters are fictional, the ancient places are real as our lives revolve around the king, our gods, and the omnipresent Hapi, the great River Nile, our life-blood; with the feared khamsin an ever-present threat to all we hold dear.
Q: No spoilers, but are you a ‘goodie’ or a ‘baddie’? (Or maybe you are both?)
A: As the highest officiating priest at the Temple of Pta in Ineb-hedj (our City of White Walls you now call Memphis), I am the sacred servant of the gods and, alas, lending my wise counsel to our weakling king. He–ironically, calls himself Hor-Aha, the Fighting Falcon [pulls a face].
I am viewed as a “goodie;” at least by the gullible populace. But there were unavoidable conflicts in my life, mostly stemming from the heart and body of me as a man.
One early such conflict, I should have avoided at all cost. It was when I loved one woman – and was loved back fervently by her. She was my cousin, with me then a young surgeon priest from Nekhen in Upper Egypt. Unhappily, she was also King Aha’s Royal Wife. As she lay dying during childbirth, she made me promise to protect the infant, the Royal Heiress Nefret.
I tried my best for sixteen years, as Aha and his despicable whining second wife treated the headstrong girl with disdain, constantly wondering if the slave whispers about her were true.
Q: Tell me about another character in the novel – maybe your best friend, lover or partner … or maybe your arch enemy!
A: This brings me to my other conflict about having to appear divine, always adhering to the strict laws of our gods [shudders].
The ugly Vizier Ebu al-Saqqara was the scourge of my existence from day one. Can you blame me that I called on all my magic powers (all right, tricks if you will), to outsmart the man’s chicanery and expose him as a traitor to the Two Lands. Pardon me if I am smirking. I just reminded myself of his ultimate fate. Uncharitable, I confess, but ah, the memory still feels good.
By the way, Mistress Helen, may I express some displeasure with you here?
You granted that vile man an interview way before me. Really! You allowed the blow-heart to boast of his importance. I showed him, though.
[Reaches for another apricot] These are delicious. Ours were never this plump and sweet, as they came with the caravans from the regions beyond the Euphrates. You wouldn’t have some date wine to wash this down, would you?
Helen: My apologies for any unintended offence. There are some characters who tend to push themselves to the forefront. [smiles, pours a glass of Merlot] Here, good sir. Try this. It is pressed from grapes, not dates.
Ramose: [Eyes the dark liquid with some suspicion but then takes a big swig]. Oh, that is nice. More, please.
Ramose: [Eyes the dark liquid with some suspicion but then takes a big swig]. Oh, that is nice. More, please.
Q: Is this the only novel you have appeared in, or are there others in a series?
A: The answer is 1) Yes, and 2) No. There are four more novels.
I dominate over the story in Book 1 of the Legends of the Winged Scarab series, taking place in Ancient Egypt (3080 BCE). One thread throughout the series are the Golden Tablets. When ancient brittle reed mats where discovered, I ordered their strange weavings copied onto thick slates of the yellow nub dug from the earth.
As Books 2-5 of the series slide into modern Egypt, goodies and baddies hunt, dig, fight, love and kill for my fifty Golden Tablets. Will the beautiful Egyptologist Naunet ever decipher their meaning?
I let you in on a secret: They tell the story of the first Egyptian settlers, way before Aha’s predecessor, the nebulous King Narmer, built his City of White Walls (your Memphis). Where did those ancient people come from? For now, my lips are sealed.
Q: What is one of your least favourite scenes you appear in?
A: Ah, my heart still breaks [wipes his eyes]. I was forced to condemn my child to death … [coughs]. I mean, the royal child, Nefret, whose safety I had so solemnly promised to my beautiful Mayet. But the girl’s unpardonable trespass against our strict laws of Ma’at left me no choice [pauses before adding in a whisper]; at least not publicly.
And this caused the greatest conflict in my service to gods and king; one which I must take into the field of reeds after which my eternal ba may never be granted peace. But at the time, my heart was glad for it. Until … [holds up his hand in distress] No more, I beg you.
Q: And your favourite scene?
A: We were in great danger. Still, I couldn’t help being amused. Aha, however, was not. I know, I was wicked. But when magic and mysticism saved us from being butchered, I call the use of deceptive powers justified–besides, to put Aha into a trance–again-was a payback for his often insufferable temper.
Aha, Nefret with three of her women slaves, and I were traveling upriver disguised as humble pilgrims on three of my temple boats. It had been my idea, necessitated by a brewing war at our southern borders.
While Aha sweated incognito in my kariy (boat shrine), the girls, scantily clad as temple chantresses, alas drew furtive looks from the handful of our virile palace archers (creating another problem later on.)
As we rowed upstream through the narrows, we noticed a clump of figures. At first, we though they were from the local temple providing our tents–as prearranged. But I sensed danger and decided we should camp in the open on the cliffs rather than staying on the vulnerable sliver of land along the river.
I had a plan (don’t I always?). We carried large vessels with the entrails of a slain crocodile mixed with human waste. A stinking brew indeed [wrinkles his nose]. My second defence was to be my secret potion that induced a deathlike trance. Too little, Aha’s and the girls’ blood would be on an attacker’s hands. Too much, it would be on mine…
You may read what happened in the Abbreviated Excerpt below.
Q: Tell me a little about your author. Has she written any other books?
A: As I mentioned above, the Legends of the Winged Scarab series spans over five novels – and five thousand years (3080 BCE – 2011 AD).
Q: Is your author working on anything else at the moment?
A: She has a notion about ancient Crete (way before the Minoans). As I intimated above, as the earth convulsed spewing fire into the heavens, some of those people managed to reach shores of a continent where they found a green savannah with great rivers and strange animals. I think she needs a good kick to write down her ideas. Pity, I can no longer assist her with some of my excellent temple scribes.
Q: How do you think authors can be helped or supported by readers or groups? What does your author think is the most useful for her personally?
A: It’s always a question of supply and demand. Too much free material. To find exposure, one must promote. But most paid sites no longer draw enough readers to offset the expense. Some say, “Write down for the masses; nothing too literary.” It becomes an author’s choice between personal satisfaction and selling. Luckily, most historical fiction authors can still be very proud of their well-researched and superbly written novels.
Q: If your author was to host a dinner party what guests (real, imaginary, alive or dead) would she invite and why?
A : The first thing she undoubtedly would do was to find a good caterer (she being a self-professed terrible cook).
Wilbur Smith, author of many Egyptian-themed historical novels (to add his take on our ancient ways).
Dr. Zahi Hawass, flamboyant Egyptian archaeologist and former antiquities minister (he’ll add zest and controversy to an ever livelier-and no doubt louder-discussion about “these people” professing to know about his culture).
Herodotus, the Greek who travelled throughout Egypt in the 5th Century BCE (to ask him which of his writings were based on fact and which on his fancy).
Dr. Naunet Wilkins (né Klein), my author’s Egyptologist from Books 2-5 of the Legends of the Winged Scarab (to find out if hers really is an ancient sinner’s soul reborn to atone for my Princess Nefret’s trespasses).
Me, Ramose, of course (to set these people’s thinking straight. After all, I was there–they weren’t).
Inge H. Borg, our hostess. (She’s a good listener. Hopefully, she’ll use our discussions in her future writing. Besides, she’s the one to “adjourn us to the parlour” for some after-dinner libation. I hope.)
And there you have it, Mistress Helen. My author believes six is the perfect number for such diverse and headstrong guests, lest discussion turns into argument.
Now, I do thank you for letting me speak my mind and for your gracious hospitality [holds out his empty glass again].
Helen: Thank you, Ramose, High Priest of Ptah, it was a pleasure. I realize chatting is thirsty work. Here is some more of our modern wine [pours]. And I’ll have a glass myself . . .
[Ramose drinks up, smiles, and then gracefully slides off his chair leaving Mistress Helen apprehensive about the tall man’s loosening leopard skin.]
Helen: [sighs] Salute! Here’s to writing a best seller!
CONNECT WITH Author Inge H. Borg
Abbreviated Excerpt - Chapter 26
Khamsin, The Devil Wind of The Nile
(Book 1 – Legends of the Winged Scarab)
* * *
Swift-footed, they poured over the closest hillock like scavenging hyenas... Their fanatic stares left no doubt they would spare no one.
The ringleader’s eyes bulged with lusty anticipation. “I am Wadji, Cobra of the Desert.”
He and four others rushed inside the largest tent. Sickening odour assaulted the expectant raiders. The group stopped, horrified. Three men and a tall girl lay rigid in apparent death while a pretty young woman writhed on the floor, her half-naked body covered with fiery red blotches. To one side in the tent stood a very tall man staring at them in tearless shock.
The stench was enough for Wadji to feel he would soon be next. He lifted his long walking staff and prodded the motionless tall girl. “Dead.”
“The plague! It is the dreaded plague,” the tall man intoned. As if he thought the tribesman could save him, he reached toward the stunned Cobra of the Desert, but stumbled. Instinctively, Wadji reached out. Too late he saw the disgusting blotches. Bile coated the desert-hardened man’s dry throat.
With great dexterity, Ramose manipulated the tiny shafts firmly between his fingers. Then he raised his arms, careful to leave his hands below eye level of his adversaries.
“Advance no further, Wadji! You, Cobra of the Desert, will die if you come any closer.”
“And how will you kill me, Tall One?” Wadji cackled.
“By placing my bare hands on your shoulders,” Ramose intoned.
Wadji laughed.
Ramose took another step forward.
Wadji turned to a big man behind him, “I wager you cannot kill the Stinger of a Scorpion.”
Ramose breathed deeply, and The Stinger felt two bites. Sand fleas, he shrugged.
Ramose removed his hands, his thumbs sliding the poisoned tips back between his fingers. He stepped back just as the giant crashed to the floor. The four marauders gasped. What magic was this? ...
Wadji could take no more. Back in the open, he unwound the swatches from his face and greedily sucked fresh air. As he exhaled, he suddenly realized the air itself might carry the awful plague. His followers tumbled from the tent equally crazed in avaricious fear for their miserable lives.
“Away!” Wadji cried, his three surviving tribe leaders close at his heels...
* * *
Awakened, Aha growled, not satisfied with explanations. His head felt as if it had been split in two. The smell inside the tent grew intolerable.
“For Horus’ sake! Get rid of this stinking mess! Best have it burned,” he groaned and buried his face in a cushion to escape the sickening stench...
* * *
The marauders rushed along the high plain. Wadji forced himself to look back. In the distance, a dark pillar of smoke rose through the desert’s iridescent heat. “They are burning their dead,” he shuddered.
“May the sun scorch those who are still alive,” the first marauder added, his face distorted with disgust and fear.
“There! Another plume of smoke,” the second man pointed, and the third added, “It is the Stinger’s burning Ba.”
What a fabulous interview!! Really enjoyed that! Well done Inge and thank you Helen for inviting Ramose!
ReplyDeleteIf my eternal Ba hadn't been transported from Egypt to the US, I would have thanked you, Helen, much earlier for the invite. Alas, I just got up. I really enjoyed the opportunity to speak my mind "behind the scenes," so to speak.
ReplyDeleteAnd thank you, Richard, for your nice comment - and your unwavering support of those Indie authors who toy with us characters.