On my way back to Egypt for the first time in more than a year, my wife behind me, one memory bit at me, a memory of my brother, the man who was meant to become my enemy. My eyes burned with the thought of it; could I do this? After all my brother and I had shared? I was unsure. And yet, what choice did I have? I steeled myself, my breath coming heavily, and tried to wipe the memory away, but found myself unable to do so. Much of the ride, I knew, was still ahead of me. There was nothing that I could do except remember.
-The Memory-
The desert sun beat down upon my back mercilessly as I rode, my body jolting as my horse, a young thing, not yet used to be ridden, faltered on the uneven ground. Ahead of me, my brother rode, his own horse strong and sure, a stallion he'd ridden since it was old enough to ride. Only the best for the future pharaoh, of course, I thought with a laugh, leaning forward on my own steed and tightening my heels around its midsection to urge it forward.
Rameses spared a short, quick glance back to me so he could see me nearing him, and relished in the shock on his face as he realized just how close I was. He whipped back around and leaned harshly left, directing the animal towards a small section of ruins our father was having repaired, knowing that my own horse would likely be unable to navigate them as well as his own. I yelled as if this actually upset me, as if I thought it was anything more than a game, and heard him laugh as I pulled my own horse in the direction he'd gone, urging it ever-forward even as it balked in the face of the weak, partially shattered pillars.
Father tells me often that I shouldn't be so foolish and irresponsible, and mother never ceases in her worries over my health. I think, sometimes, that I'd do well to listen to them now and then. My horse stumbled over a large stone, and then, because it over-compensated for the stumble, managed to startle itself into thinking that it would fall. As such, it reared, and I found myself in the sand, the rough particles scraping my skin raw, my right shoulder aching fiercely and my head ringing. Rameses cried out, not in triumph, but in worry. I thought for a moment that that was not a thing a pharaoh ought to do; he should've been focused on the victory, not the fate of his opponent, before I recalled that the things a pharaoh ought to do only very rarely coincide with what a brother ought to do.
"Moses!" he yelled when he reached me, "Moses, where are you hurt?" I gave him a smile, unwilling to worry him just then; we were, after all, riding to the palace for him to meet some foreign dignitary or another, I wasn't entirely sure. Politics, after all, had never been my strongest suit, nor particularly interesting to me. The race there had been my idea, a way to liven things up before the boredom settled in.
"I'm well, brother, please, calm yourself. It's just a few scrapes and bruises; you know well enough that I've had worse." He looked no less worried, and his hands were soft and gentle where they touched to help me stand.
"You've grit in these cuts, look! It'll heal poorly if it's not cleaned soon. And your shoulder is already turning colors. Come, get on my horse with me. That beast of yours is dangerous. I'll drop you with the physician when we reach the palace." I tried to protest, to tell him that my horse was fine, but he would not hear it. Instead, he helped me onto his own horse (as if I needed the age; I'd been riding only a year or two less than he had, I could certainly get onto one on my own) and climbed on behind me, taking my own horse by its bridle so it would walk beside us.
I sighed, my hands on his horse's bridle to direct it since his only free hand was settled on my belly as though he thought I'd fall again. I suppose I'd have been more offended if this was anything close to a rare occurrence, but really it wasn't. Rameses had always been protective of me, and worried over me often; I'd thought nothing of it until a boy I met in the marketplace remarked on how odd the way he acted was. I had, of course, wondered why it was so "odd", and the boy had told me that his own brother generally had little to do with him, like the brothers of nearly all the boys in the city.
After I went home that day (and received my usual scolding from father for going out into the city alone) I'd asked Rameses about it for the first and only time. The look on his face afterwards, though, as if I'd said the cruelest thing imaginable, his response of, "can I not look after my only brother?" kept me from mentioning it again. Still yet, though, it sometimes embarrassed me, at least a bit; like then, being forced to ride a horse like that, cradled against his chest like a child. I knew better than to comment again in any case, though; I didn't want him to give me that hurt look again, as if I'd broken his heart.
"You know, Rameses, I am alright. This is far from the first time I've fallen from a horse." I felt the chuckle that rumbled from his chest against my back, and his hand patted my stomach softly.
"It is the first time it has been my fault, brother. Besides, left on your own, you would let the injuries fester rather than having them treated." I laughed myself, then, shaking my head.
"Is that so, brother? Are you not the one who went two days with your arm broken because of a distaste for the doctors? I'm very sure I've never done that." I could imagine his smile even if I couldn't see it, and I could certainly hear it in his voice.
"I suppose you haven't. I'm afraid that doesn't mean I'll not do as I will. I am-," I snickered, interrupting him.
"The morning and the evening star, yes, I know." He squeezed me tighter, almost to the point of it aching, but he relaxed again before I felt any real pain.
"I was going to say, 'your elder brother', but yes, that works too." I sighed again; really there wasn't much to say in response to that, honestly. I'd let him get that protective streak out, as I always did, and then I'd be free to do as I pleased, just as I always was.
We rode the rest of the way in silence, his horse staying steady the entire way despite the extra weight, and none of the servants commented when we reached the stables and gave them the horses.
"Look after them," I said, offering them a small smile, but Rameses pulled me away, towards the palace.
"And do not let my brother take that beast out again," he told the men. I sighed; the animal had definite potential, I knew that. I'd wanted to keep working with it. Ah well; Rameses had a habit of getting what he wanted, I knew, and there was little I could do about it as he led me into the palace by the hand, once more as one might do to a child.
Our father, seated upon his throne, caught sight of us immediately, and his face turned down in displeasure at my sorry state. The man in front of him stiffened, likely thinking he'd done something to displease the man as he rose to his feet and strode towards us.
"Rameses, Moses. What have you done now? Must I once more repair a piece of my kingdom that has fallen around your ears?" I shifted on my feet, for once not willing to explain what had happened, I assume because no damage had been done to the palace and only I'd been hurt. Rameses, however, stared at our father confidently, his jaw stiff and his back straight, the carriage of a true prince set to rule.
"Moses' horse is a wild beast; it bucked him off while we were riding here from the river so that I might accompany you in the trade meeting. He is cut and bruised, and his shoulder pains him. I thought it best to tell you what had happened before I brought him to the doctor." Our father's anger melted away immediately, replaced with a soft, affectionate stare as he touched the top of my head.
"Thank you, Rameses. You've done the wisest thing; drop him with the physician and make sure he is comfortable, and then return here." Rameses nodded, his hand still wrapped tightly around mine, and brought me to the court physician, who had me lie on my stomach on a soft bed so that he could prod at the worst of my injuries.
"My, Moses, you've done a number on yourself this time," the old man said, shaking his head and dampening a cloth in the small bowl of water upon his work table, which he used to clean my skin around the open cuts.
"He will be well?" Rameses asked, worry darkening his voice, but the physician only laughed.
"Rameses, this is all minor compared to some of the ways the two of you have come here. He will be well enough to do as he likes by the hour's end." I watched Rameses nod out of the corner of my eye before he stepped beside me and stroked my head and my cheek once, kind and soft.
"Be well, brother. If you finish here before my meeting is through, wait outside the doors for me, and we'll go to my rooms together for the evening."
"Of course," I said, and he nodded, leaving the room with fast, purposeful strides. He really would make a fine pharaoh, I thought with a faint smile. My brother. I wondered what I had done to deserve one so great, so noble as he.
The doctor rubbed stinging salves over my injuries, his hands hard and practiced. He had been treating my brother and I since we were children, from having us drink bitter potions and chew tasteless plants when we were ill to setting our bones and bandaging our wounds when we partook in one of our frequent misadventures. The familiarity of it, though, made it hurt no less, and I hissed and groaned throughout most of the process, until finally he decreed me as treated as I would get and allowed me to leave.
I did as Rameses had bid and waited by the closed doors for perhaps an hour until he finished his meeting, at which point he stepped out with a man I didn't recognize at his side, I assume the dignitary he'd been set to meet. They spoke of things I didn't truly comprehend, given that father didn't often confide in me about affairs of the state, until the man caught sight of me and smiled.
"Prince Rameses, you keep fine servants," he said, and my brother stiffened immediately, leaving his side and coming to mine.
"You do me offense! This is not a servant, but a sovereign prince, my younger brother Moses!" He was smiling, but it did not reach his dark eyes. The man's face flooded with terror, and he bowed, forcing a chuckle from his throat.
"My sincerest apologies, Prince Rameses. I was unaware that your father had another son. Prince Moses, I do hope you'll forgive me." I shrugged the hand Rameses had lain across my shoulders off, and bowed my head to the other man.
"I take no offense, I promise. I'm sure I don't cut the princely image very well right now anyway." He smiled, wavering and nervous, and shook his head.
"No, no, it was my mistake. You're… you're quite fine," he tried, and I watched as Rameses' forced smile fell and his mouth turned into a tight line.
"Come, Moses. The guards will escort him to his mount." I attempted for a moment to wish the man well on his return to wherever he'd come from, but Rameses dragged me away too quickly, deep into the palace where his rooms were situated.
I did not ask about his behavior; I'd learned long ago that it did little good, and I'd always get the same answer no matter how I posed the question: "You are my brother, Moses. I will not have you harmed or disrespected." Besides, I loved my brother, truly I did; all I wanted, more often than not, was to make him laugh, to make him smile. If he felt the same of me, and desired to look after me… embarrassing as it sometimes was, I wouldn't begrudge him that, and sometimes, I even found myself taking pleasure in it. It was, after all, nice to know that there was someone who would put me above all else, look after me even when I wasn't looking after myself. We were brothers; our parents loved us, to be sure, but one day, they would not be around, and we would have only one another. We were together in all things, I had known that all my life. My brother; I really, truly did love him.
-End Memory-
I took in another deep breath and let it out heavily; even now, even knowing what I knew, I still could not say that I didn't love Rameses. In my mind, he was still my brother, still the man I'd grown up beside. I felt Tzipporah's hands squeeze my hips in some form of comfort, as if she could read my thoughts where she sat behind me.
The palace was looming in the distance, familiar, so familiar, my once-home. We did not, however, go far into the main city before guards accosted us, their faces hard and dangerous.
"Who are you? What business do you have here?" they asked me, hauling myself and Tzipporah from our mount.
"I'm here to see the pharaoh," I said, and it felt so strange to call Rameses by that title, almost wrong. They laughed, as if they idea of me seeing him was the most foolish thing they'd ever heard.
"Oh, yes, we'll take you to see the pharaoh," the apparent leader sneered, his grip on my upper arm bruising, and I flinched. "I'm sure he'll be so happy to meet a trespasser." I lifted my chin high, like the prince I once was, and resisted the urge to laugh in their faces. Rameses would not hurt me; I was confident in at least that. He had always loved me, just as I had loved him; I couldn't imagine that that had changed any more for him than it had for me.
Still yet, I could not tell them who I was, not then; likely, it would only upset them, and probably result only in me being killed before I got into the palace, so instead I remained silent and let them escort myself and Tzipporah, who was snarling and hissing crudely, none too gently through the city and then through the palace's enormous entrance.
There looked to be something like a small celebration going on inside, with lovely women dancing in the center of the room, and countless high ranking people milling about and chatting with one another faintly. Rameses, my brother, dressed now in his father's headdress and jewelry, sat upon the throne, his face cooler and harder than I recalled. Tzipporah looked around, faint annoyance and disgust present in every line of her face as we walked further into the room, away from the guards.
I watched his eyes go wide, his body lean forwards as he took me in, and the music and dancing fell silent and still around us as he stood. Every inch of him betrayed his surprise as he stood, and then smiled, joy in him the likes of which I never saw before.
"Rameses," I said, slow, perhaps a bit awed, because I had assumed that he would be pharaoh now, yes, but the sight of him like that… it shocked me.
"Moses?" he asked, breathless, "Is it really you?" I had missed him so much, over the years, some days more than others. Seeing him now, like this, I knew that he had felt the same. He walked towards me and embraced me suddenly, his arms like snakes around me, and he said my name again, finally seeming to truly realize who I was, that I was there, that I was real. I found myself smiling without truly meaning to, returning his embrace the best I could in the awkward position.
"Look at you!" I shouted once he released me, "Pharaoh!" He could only laugh, his hands teasing at my robe as he shook my head.
"Look at you! What on earth are you dressed as?" The familiar teasing smile cut the coldness I'd seen in him upon my entrance, and he was my elder brother once more, the Rameses I had grown up with. I couldn't hold back my laugh even though Tzipporah had not stopped looking disgusted and the court around us appeared restless and antsy, confused as all.
"It's so good to see you," I finally had to say, embracing him once more with all of my strength, and he matched me, his arms tight around my back even as his priests spoke up against me for the crime I had committed so long before, when I fled the city. Just like before, I couldn't help but think, always ready to defend me against all comers no matter what I had done. My eyes burned again.
"Be still. Pharaoh speaks," he told them, half-mocking. "I am the morning and the evening star." And that reminded me of why I was here, what my mission was. Ice crept up my spine; I had missed Rameses, yes, and I loved him, but… the time for pleasantries had ended. It was time to say what I had come here to say, whether I truly wanted to or not.
"Rameses-," I tried to interrupt him, but he held a hand out to silence me, shaking his head, a faint smile curling his lips.
"It shall be as I say. I pardon forever all crimes of which he stands accused and will have it known that he is our brother Moses, the prince of Egypt." But I was not, not anymore. I had not been the prince since I left the palace. I had not… I had not been his brother since then either. His hands on my shoulders felt like weights where once they had been feathers. It was time to end the illusion, no matter how much I might have wished for it to go on.
"Rameses… in my heart you are my brother, but things cannot be as they were." The hurt on his face mirrored that which I'd seen when I asked him why he always felt I needed to be protected and looked after so watchfully when none of the other boys were.
"I see no reason why not." Because I had run away. Because I had undertaken a mission that I could not, would not, refuse, a mission from my God. Because he was the pharaoh of Egypt, and I was the chosen leader of the people he kept in chains.
"You know that I am a Hebrew, and the God of the Hebrews came to me," I said, as level as I could manage, and his face twisted with shock, with something almost like laughter.
"What?" he asked, as if we were children, as if he had not learned of my true origins, that his parents were not my own. I could not stop then, though; I could not give in at the genuine surprise, the aching, festering misery on his face.
"And he commands that you let his people go." There. I had said what I had to say. His face contorted, from sadness to anger, and his hands squeezed my shoulders roughly as he laughed.
"Your time in the desert has made you ill, Moses. Come, let's get you tended to; I'm sure you could stand for a good meal and some water. You look as though you need a shave, too. You look more like a wild dog than my brother." I turned my eyes from his face; I couldn't stand to look at him as he pretended that nothing had changed.
"Rameses, they are my people too. Let them go," I said, and he gritted his teeth, his hands sliding down my shoulders to clutch at my biceps, pulling me close to him with strength I could not seem to contest.
"You are my brother, Moses, not… them."
"Let my people go, Rameses." I had to remain stalwart against him, against the desperation emerging on his face as he held me ever tighter, the anger that blossomed even brighter within his eyes.
"Your people are here, Moses, not out there."
"Rameses-," I tried once again, and he silenced me with a hand over my mouth.
"Be silent. I will not stand in my own palace and hear my own brother disown me." Tzipporah chose then to come at us, her own face tight with rage, her fists clenched at her sides and her chin defiantly high.
"He is not your brother," she nearly roared, before the guards caught both of her arms and detained her where she stood. "He is my husband, the future ruler of our people!" Rameses ignored her, as if deaf to her screaming.
"They're just slaves, Moses," he said, and I stiffened. My brother would not have said that, never. I pulled free from him and stepped away, shaking my head, reminiscing painfully on a similar seen that had taken place with the man I once called father.
"No, Rameses; they are my people." He hit me, then, his fist thumping harshly against my jaw and his teeth bared in a snarl. The people around us, who had been gossiping quietly amongst themselves, fell as silent as death. The woman who had been on the raised dais at his side escorted a young boy out of the room. I tasted blood faintly in my mouth, but didn't raise my own hand against him.
"You still insist on saying that? Fine, Moses, I will not argue with you any longer; it would do me as much good to fight the gods themselves. Call them as you will; all that matters to you is their freedom, yes?" I nodded once, stiffly, and he smiled. It was not the smile I knew from him, though; rather it was cruel, frozen instead of warm, a pharaoh's smile. "Then they will be freed. A few Hebrews will make little difference in the construction of my empire. I do, however, have a condition."
"I'll do whatever you ask of me, Rameses," I said. I wanted to avoid the path of bloodshed unless it became truly necessary; more death was not a way to stop death. He chuckled, this time, nodding.
"Good, Moses. I will let them walk free on the condition that you remain here with me, in your true home." Tzipporah yelled again, but the guards silenced her with blades to her throat. Could I? I didn't know. I had made at least a partial life for myself, with Tzipporah and her family. I had not been always happy, of course, but… it had worked, I supposed, as much as anything worked. But this way, my people would be let free without conflict, without bloodshed, and that was my mission. That was what I wanted. And so, I nodded.
"Of course, Rameses."
"No, Moses!" Tzipporah cried out, but I shook my head.
"This is the way it must be, Tzipporah. Go; you will lead them out of Egypt. Find my siblings, Miriam and Aaron, and tell them that I am well. Be safe for me." Rameses embraced me again, then, as the guards forced Tzipporah from the palace, a smile on his face, and brought me to the dais where he had sat, clasping my hand in his and raising it to the air.
Wild noise erupted outside the palace doors, cheers and songs from the Hebrews as they were set free, as they were able to drop their work and be led away, and Rameses smiled in the truly happy way he had when I'd arrived.
"Behold!" he cried, and all the people in the room turned to face him at the authority in his voice. "The sovereign prince of Egypt, Moses!" They, and he, cheered, the noise blending seamlessly with the clatter outside. My legs shook, with fear and with a happiness I didn't want to admit to, a happiness I was sure I shouldn't feel, and yet something within me insisted on telling me that I was home, that I was where I meant to be. I swallowed thickly, and tried to reconcile everything once more in my head; I was Moses, leader of the Hebrews. I was Moses, prince of Egypt. I was Moses, brother of Rameses. I was… I wasn't entirely sure what I was, but I knew, at least, that no matter how Rameses might will it, things would not be as they once were again.