Remember, my sweet, that you must be wife to the next Pharaoh,
that you're going to be mine, all mine, like my dog or my falcon.
Only I will love you more and trust you less.
You will never do the things to me you would have done to Moses.
I know you, my sweet.
You're a sharp-clawed, treacherous little peacock.
But you're food for the gods and I'm going to have all of you.
None of me. Did you think my kiss was a promise of what you'll have?
No, my pompous one, it was to let you know what you will NOT have.
I could NEVER love you.
Does that matter?
You will be my wife.
You will come to me whenever I call you.
And I will enjoy that very much.
Whether you enjoy it or not is your own affair.
But I think you will.
That drop puts too much strain on the stone. We need more sand.
I'll risk it, Baka. There's little time till the day of jubilee.
If the stone cracks, you may crack with it.
Ready blue signal.
Blue pennant.
Blue pennant!
- The snubber is ready. - Green pennant.
Mallet men, ready!
Mallet men, stand by! Clear the main hawser!
Mallet men ready.
You are not pleased to see me here.
I am, Great Pharaoh, but now I have important things to do.
Red pennant, stand by.
So Rameses tells me.
More important things than obeying my orders.
You ordered me to finish this city. That stone must be moved.
Red pennant.
Red pennant... strike!
- The stone will break. - 2,000 slaves are on the ropes.
There is the obelisk of your jubilee.
Baka, put 1,000 slaves to removing the sand
until the stone settles to its base.
Pharaoh is pleased?
With the obelisk, yes, but not with certain accusations made against you.
By whom?
- You raided the temple granaries. - Yes.
- You gave the grain to the slaves. - Yes.
You gave them one day in seven to rest.
Yes.
Did you do this to gain their favour?
A city is built of brick, Pharaoh.
The strong make many. The starving make few.
The dead make none.
So much for accusations.
Now judge the results.
The pylons commemorate your victory at Kadish
where you broke the Amorites.
- Are there any higher in Egypt? - There are none higher in the world.
With so many slaves, you could build... an army.
But I HAVE built a city.
16 of these lions of Pharaoh will guard its gates.
It shall be the city of Sethi's glory.
Hmm.
Are these slaves loyal to Sethi's glory or to you, Moses?
The slaves worship their god...
and I serve only you.
Let your own image proclaim my loyalty for a thousand years.
Superb!
And this you call treason?
Who would take a throne by force that he has earned by deeds?
With this and Ethiopia,
your name shall be carved beside mine on every pylon.
Yours, Rameses, will be nowhere.
In my judgement book, you have accused your brother falsely.
Come.
Great Pharaoh, he is the son of your body.
I need no help, Moses, to hold what is mine.
I decide what is yours.
Come with me, Moses.
Will you lose the throne because Moses builds a city?
The city that he builds shall bear my name.
The woman that he loves shall bear my child.
So it shall be written. So it shall be done.
Yes. This is for the temple ceremony.
This...
Ah, this!
This for my wedding night.
You will never wear it.
Why not?
I have brought you a cloth more revealing. Send them away.
Go, then, while I hear what this puckered old persimmon has to say.
Well? What croakings of doom have you today?
You prepare for a marriage that will never be.
You've been drinking honey wine!
I shall not let the Pharaoh and Rameses be betrayed.
Why should a slave care which Pharaoh rules?
For 30 years, I have been silent.
Now all the kings of Egypt cry out to me from their tombs,
"Let no Hebrew sit upon our throne. "
What are you saying?
Rameses has the blood of many kings.
- And Moses. - He is lower than the dust.
Not one drop of royal blood flows through his veins.
He is the son of Hebrew slaves.
I'll have you torn into so many pieces,
even the vultures won't find them.
Who hatched this lie? Rameses?
Rameses does not know... yet.
You will repeat this to Bithiah!
Bithiah drew a slave child from the Nile,
called him son and Prince of Egypt,
blinding herself to the truth and the pain of an empty womb.
Were you two alone?
A little girl led me to the Hebrew woman Yochabel
that the child might be suckled by his true mother.
Take care, old frog.
You croak too much against Moses.
Would you mingle the blood of slaves with your own?
He will be my husband. I shall have no other.
Use this to wrap your first-born.
Torn from a Levite's robe.
It was Moses' swaddling cloth.
And your shroud!
You think I care whose son he is?
- Rameses does. - You won't live to tell him.
Nefretiri! Have you closed your doors to make a beggar of a prince?
I'm the beggar, Moses, begging you to hold me in your arms. Kiss me.
You're no beggar, my love.
You're a conqueror and I am your captive for life.
One lifetime will not be half enough.
You will be King of Egypt.
And I will be your footstool.
A man stupid enough to use you for a footstool
would not be wise enough to rule Egypt.
Princess! Ravens have dropped a black feather at your door.
- Who can...? - Leave the world outside.
Pardon, pardon, royal one.
- The old nurse, Memnet... - I don't want to hear anything.
What about Memnet?
She's dead. She must have fallen from the balcony.
I will not hear unhappy things tonight. Go away!
Old Memnet must have walked that balcony a thousand times.
What is the death of one slave to us?
She was a faithful servant to you.
Can one so rich in love be so poor in pity?
What kind of a woman holds me captive?
One who loves you and will not lose you.
One who will be your wife. Nothing in the world can change that.
Neither Rameses' princely plots nor Memnet's evil lies.
Memnet has always grumbled. Why should it upset you now?
Because she grumbled against you.
Oh, let her threats be buried with her.
Look... The night's a crown of stars,
and the darkness a robe of forgetfulness.
Let's share them. We'll use the moon for a sceptre.
- A piece of Hebrew cloth! - Memnet may have dropped it.
Memnet was not Hebrew. Why would she have this?
- I don't know. - Yes, you do.
Tell me.
She was taking it to Rameses...
- to destroy you. - To de...?
How could Rameses destroy me with a piece of cloth?
Moses, why do you question me? Why do you care? Yes!
I killed her. What does it matter? A hundred slaves die every day.
- It's forgotten. - It is not.
- What is this to do with me? - It makes no difference to us.
How could it make a difference?
A child was wrapped in it.
- What child? - Bithiah took him from the river.
Memnet was with her.
Who was this child?
Memnet is dead. No one need know who you are. I love you.
I'll kill anyone who comes between us.
Why did you kill for me? If you love me, do not lie. Who was the child?
Hold me in your arms.
Hold me... close.
You were not born Prince of Egypt, Moses...
but the son of Hebrew slaves.
You believe that?
I'll believe anything you want me to believe.
Say you are not, I'll believe you are not.
Love cannot drown truth, Nefretiri.
You do believe it or you would not have killed Memnet.
I love you. That's the only truth I know.
Did this child of the Nile have a mother?
Memnet called her Yochabel.
I will ask Bithiah.
How could you doubt me?
You did not doubt me when I held you as you took your first step.
It's a wicked lie spun by Rameses.
Mother, did Rameses spin this?
The word of your mother against a cloth found by Memnet?
How did you know it was Memnet?
Who else? Memnet nursed Rameses.
She shall pay for spreading his lies.
- She has paid. - She's dead?
At the hand of Nefretiri.
Put away any fears or suspicions that may remain with you, my son.
Why, your will will be law in Egypt when you are crowned as her king.
Memnet spoke of a Hebrew woman named Yochabel.
Did you ever know her?
No.
Yours was the face I saw above my cradle,
the only mother I've ever known.
Wherever I am led or whatever I must do,
I will always love you.
My chariot. I will drive to Goshen.
A chariot here in Goshen?
- You know who I am? - It has been many years, great one.
Who are they?
All that remain of my children.
I will speak to you alone.
Why have you...?
- Why have you come here? - Because Moses will come here.
My son?
No, MY son. And that's all that he must know.
My lips might deny him, great one, but my eyes never could.
You shall leave Goshen tonight.
We are Levites, shepherds of Israel. We cannot leave our people.
Would you take from Moses all that I have given him?
Would you undo all that I have done?
I have put the throne of Egypt within his reach.
- What can you give him? - I gave him life.
I gave him love! Was it your hand that dried his tears?
Was it your heart that ached for him?
Yes. My heart ached for him.
My arms ached to hold him,
but I dared not even touch the hem of his garment.
His heritage from me could only have been misery, poverty and the lash.
No, I will not take from him the glory and riches you have given him.
For this you shall be well cared for.
You and your family shall be taken from Goshen tonight.
No matter where you send me...
if the God of Abraham has a purpose for my son,
he will come to know it and fulfil it.
Come, gather your things. I shall see you want for nothing.
You and your children shall be given freedom.
Has my mother forgotten? Only the Pharaoh can free a slave.
- Do not enter. There is sorrow here. - Are you comforting it, my mother?
I followed you here to find this woman, Yochabel...
You are the woman who was caught between the stones.
- Until you came. - My son, if you love me...
I love you, my mother, but am I your son?
Or yours?
No, you are not my son.
If you believe that men and women are cattle to be driven under the lash,
if you can bow before idols of stone and golden images of beasts...
you are not my son.
My son would be a slave...
His hands would be gnarled and broken from the brick pits,
his back scarred from the taskmaster's whip,
but in his heart would burn the spirit of the living God.
Are a scarred back and broken hands the price of this god's favour?
This god is the hope of the hopeless. YOUR place is in the palace halls.
You have mounted to the sun on golden wings.
You belong to me, to Nefretiri, to Sethi. We love you.
Do they love less who have no hope?
Will you swear in the name of this god that you are not my mother?
We do not even know his name.
Then look into my eyes and tell me you are not my mother.
Oh, Moses, Moses, I cannot, I cannot.
I am your brother Aaron.
I am Miriam, your sister.
- I am your brother Moses. - No! Get ready to leave. Hurry!
They're going. The secret's going with them.
- No one need know the shame. - Shame?
What change is there in me?
Egyptian or Hebrew, I am still Moses.
These are the same hands, the same arms,
the same face that were mine a moment ago.
A moment ago, you were her son, the strength of Egypt.
Now you are mine, a slave of Egypt. You find no shame in this?
There is no shame in me. How can I feel shame for the woman who bore me?
- Or the race that bred me? - God of my fathers.
Moses, what will you do?
This is the binding tie...
and here I will stay.
- Moses... - To find the meaning of what I am.
Why a Hebrew... or any man, must be a slave.
Put back your things. You are not leaving.
Has she done more for you than I?
Will the life she gave you be more useful in the black pits of slavery?
Cannot justice and truth be served better upon a throne
where all men may benefit from your goodness... and strength?
I do not know what power shapes my way,
but my feet are set upon a road that I must follow.
Forgive me, Bithiah.
God of our fathers, who has appointed an end to the bondage of Israel,
blessed am I among all mothers in the land...
for my eyes have beheld thy deliverer.
Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the corn,
making straw for the bricks of Egypt,
nor spare the arms that endlessly winnow the grain in the wind
to separate the wheat from the chaff,
wheat borne stolidly on the backs of countless slaves
from the heavy-laden Nile boats to the teeming shore.
Endlessly they plod beneath the sheaves of wheat
and endlessly return for more.
A golden harvest to the threshers,
a grain safe to feed the masters, bitterness to feed the slaves,
and to feed the brick pits, straw, carried on the bowed backs of women
down into the never-ending valley of toil and agony,
stretching mile after mile.
An inferno of mud-soaked bodies,
where the treaders' feet churn clay and straw
into the mixture for the Pharaoh's bricks.
And everywhere the lash of watchful taskmasters
ready to sting the backs of the weary.
Blades chopping straw.
Mattocks chopping clay.
A ceaseless cycle of unending drudgery.
From the mixing feet of treaders
to the pouring hands of brick moulders
moves the constant stream of mud, the lowly seed of tall cities,
day after day, year after year, century after century.
Bondage without rest, toil without reward.
These are the children of misery,
the afflicted, the hopeless, the oppressed.
And he went out unto his brethren and looked on their burdens.
Water... girl!
Dear, here's water.
That's a hard dance you do, old man.
We've been dancing it for 400 years.
It's a grim music.
And the only deliverer that has come to us is death.
Back to work, you braying mules.
You're strange to the pits.
Your back is unscarred.
You bring a warm smile with your cool water.
My smile is for a stonecutter.
- The water is for you. - I thank you.
Your voice is not strange.
- You are...? - One of many who thirst.
You there!
Come here.
That is Baka, the master builder.
- Does he call me or you? - You! Water girl! I'm thirsty.
He does not thirst for water.
Beauty is but a curse to our women.
- Water, noble one. - I'll have wine, the wine of beauty.
What beauty can my lord find in these mud pits?
The lotus flower blooms in the Nile's grey mud.
- She will do well as a house slave. - Do not take me from my people!
There would be danger.
Danger from such lovely hands?
There are other hands, strong enough to kill.
Our mud flower has a thorn.
Oh, please, Lord Baka, I beg you.
Tears...
When you have been bathed in scented water,
when your limbs have been caressed by sweet oils
and your hair combed with sandalwood,
there will be no time for tears.
She is not worthy of you. Let my eyes...
Your eyes had best find the deliverer, Dathan. Bring the girl.
May the hand of God strike him.
Dance, you mud turtles, dance!
You rot our bodies, steal hope from our souls.
Must you also shame and defile our women?
Dance you squealing goat!
We are not animals, we are men, made in the image of God.
This will change your image.
Dance, you.
Get that straw cutter.
Leave him or you'll be murdered with him.
I'll not leave a man to die in the mud.
Thank you, my son.
But death is better than bondage,
for my days are ended and my prayer unanswered.
What prayer, old man?
That before death closed my eyes I might behold the deliverer
who will lead all men to freedom.
What deliverer could break the power of Pharaoh?
You, mud-carriers, throw this carrion to the vultures.
You, take his place.
And dance the straw into the mud, you dogs.
Stand aside, you. Make way.
Clear a path.
Come on, get back. Out of the way!
I need another oarsman for my barge, a strong slave.
- Your word is our will. - The large one there.
You!
No, not that one. The very dirty one there.
Yes, that one. He may serve my purpose.
You!
YOU!
Out of the pit!
Out of the way! Back to work!
Clear a path!
Back to work!
First friend of the Pharaoh, keeper of the royal seal,
Prince of Memphis, Prince of Thebes,
beloved of the Nile god, conqueror of Ethiopia,
general of generals,
commander of the Egyptian Host,
and man of mud!
Is that what you want? To be a slave?
Then why aren't you kneeling at the feet of a princess?
I'm afraid the mud pits have stiffened my knees, royal one.
Shall I call back the guards?
- Do you think they could bend them? - Oh, Moses! Moses!
You stubborn, splendid, adorable fool.
I'm not kneeling to a princess.
No. You are kneeling to a woman
who's been worried about you day and night since you disappeared.
What is there in the mud pits that could keep you from my arms?
My people.
Do you have to wallow with your people? Smell like them?
If they are stained, it's with the mud of slavery.
If they reek, it's with the stench of injustice.
- Come back to the palace. - And hide the truth from Sethi?
That I am Hebrew and a slave.
The truth would break his dear old heart
and send Bithiah into exile or death.
Stop hearing the cries of your people.
Their god does not hear their cry.
Will Rameses hear it if he is Pharaoh?
No. He would grind them into the clay they mould,
double their labours.
What about me? Think of me as his wife.
Do you want to see me in Rameses' arms?
No.
Then come back with me.
Oh, Moses! The gods have fashioned you for greatness.
The splendour of your name will last beyond the pyramids.
As Pharaoh, you can free your people, worship whatever gods you please,
so long as I can worship you.
I will come to you at the palace on the day of Sethi's jubilee.
Come with me now.
No, my love.
First I have a call to make on the master builder.
No, no, no, no, no.
Not red with the samil gown.
My eyes can best be used elsewhere, Lord Baka.
Before you go, let them look upon what you thought unworthy.
Who would let beauty such as this go unseen?
Who would let such a flower go ungathered?
Dathan, you can see only mud, so pick up her muddy clothes and go.
Go, all of you.
Did you know that this golden web was spun from the beards of shellfish?
- Please let me go to my home. - You ARE at home.
Here, taste this.
The blood of Thracian grapes, the wine of love.
No wine can change my love.
Then your love shall be my wine.
There's fire in the chariot house!
The chariot house.
Guards! Guards! Take water to the roof.
Dathan, take charge. Guards, after him.
Pull it out of the shed.
Take it clear of the house.
No, your wings must not be singed, at least not by that fire.
- Joshua! - Run! The way is clear.
The master builder will not follow.
Neither will you, stonecutter.
Bind him between the columns.
See that his arms are tightly stretched.
You will die on your feet, stonecutter.
Now go after the girl.
And don't come back without her.
You foolish, stupid man!
I would have kept her only a short while.
She would have returned to you - shall we say - more worthy.
Now to whom shall I return Lilia?
You will not be there, Joshua.
You've seen me drive my chariot.
I can flick a fly from my horse's ear without breaking his stride.
You've seen me use my whip.
You make no outcry, Joshua.
But you will.
You will cry for the mercy of death.
One day you will listen to the cry of slaves.
This is not that day, Joshua.
You hold your tongue almost as well as I hold my temper.
It's a pity to kill so strong a stonecutter.
- Death will bring death, Baka. - Who are you?
One who asks what right you have to kill.
The right of a master to kill any slave.
- Kill ME, master butcher! - Moses!
Why have you done this?
- Where is Lilia? - Gone.
Why are you dressed as a slave?
Why does a prince of Egypt kill the master builder to save a Hebrew?
I am Hebrew.
God of Abraham. Four hundred years we've waited.
The Pharaoh's soldiers won't wait so long.
The Almighty has heard our cries.
You are the chosen one.
- I know nothing of your god. - He knows YOU.
He has brought you to us. You cannot turn your back upon us.
You will deliver us. The finger of God points the way to YOU.
- Where was his body found? - Buried in the sand, royal one.
This is Baka's knife.
There was no wound on the body.
Baka was a powerful man. It would take strong hands to break him.
The slave, Joshua, is a stonecutter.
Go find me this Joshua.
Joshua's strength didn't kill the master builder.
Now speaks the rat that would be my ears.
Too many ears tie a rat's tongue.
Go. All of you.
Well? Who killed him?
I am a poor man, generous one. What I bring is worth much.
I have paid you much and you have brought nothing.
Now I bring the world... true son of Pharaoh.
You offer me the world when you cannot even bring me the deliverer.
Who killed Baka?
- The deliverer. - Would you play at words with me?
No, lord prince.
This murderer has now fled to some distant land?
No, lord prince.
Name him!
One who made himself a prince and judge over us.
If he knew I were here, he would kill me.
I will hang you myself if you tire me further.
There are those who would pay much for what my eyes have seen.
You haggle with me like in a marketplace?
No, I will not haggle. Here's your money.
But for ten talents of fine gold, I'll give you the wealth of Egypt.
Give me my freedom and I'll give you the sceptre.
Give me Lilia and I'll give you the princess of your heart's desire.
Give me this house and I'll give you the throne.
Give me all that I ask...
or give me leave to go.
I will give you more than leave to go.
I will send you where you belong.
I belong in your service, glorious one.
Very well.
I WILL bargain with you.
If what you say pleases me, I will give you your price.
If not, I will give you the point of this blade! Agreed?
Agreed.
The deliverer...
is Moses.
Draw one more breath to tell me why Moses or any other Egyptian
would deliver the Hebrews?