War of the Crowns

by Christian Jacq

  ‘There isn’t a woman like her in the world. Even the most battle-hardened war-leader would have lost heart long ago, but she hasn’t. The fire in her is not of this world.’

  ‘But we are. This may be our last night on this earth, Afghan, so let’s make the best of it.’

  The queen had granted leave to all her men, and the taverns of Kebet welcomed them warmly. Everyone preferred not to think of the coming day.

  While talking to a caravan-owner, the Afghan, although he was tipsy, had an idea which might save many Theban lives.

  ‘Come on, Moustache, we must speak to the queen.’

  ‘She’ll be asleep.’

  ‘Never mind. We’ll wake her up.’

  Heavy-footed, the two men headed for the governor’s palace, where Ahhotep was staying. Not only was she not asleep, but she was actually implementing the plan—which she had thought of long before the Afghan did.

  *

  The first Hyksos fort stood about two hours to the east of Kebet and held absolute control of the road. No caravans could reach the city, because the emperor’s soldiers intercepted them and stripped them of their goods.

  This plunder made the difficult desert living-conditions bearable, but the Hyksos had not given up the idea of retaking Kebet. Soon the garrisons of the five forts between the town and the Red Sea would unite to attack the city. It had been sent an ultimatum: either it recognized the emperor’s supremacy, or its entire population would be slaughtered.

  ‘Caravan in sight!’ shouted a lookout.

  The commander of the fort joined him at his observation post. It was indeed a caravan, and a sizeable one, but it was not coming from the desert.

  ‘It’s coming from Kebet,’ said the commander, ‘and they must be important people. They’re surrendering! Look at them, all those frightened people, and all the riches they’re going to lay at our feet. Let’s run the mayor through and decapitate the others.’

  ‘I’d like to keep the donkey,’ said the lookout. ‘I’ve never seen such a fine one.’

  ‘I’m the commander here, and I’ll decide who gets what from the booty. Forget that donkey and think of the Kebet girls—they’ll lick your feet and beg for mercy.’

  Laughing heartily, the Hyksos let the donkeys approach, with the dignitaries and their servants. The governor of Kebet and his retinue were trembling, afraid they would be shot by the archers before they had even reached the gate of the fort. But they were so pitiful that the emperor’s men didn’t bother to waste their arrows. Torture would be much more amusing.

  ‘Lie face down in the dust,’ ordered the commander.

  The dignitaries did so, looking more and more terrified.

  Way-Finder gave the signal for the attack, by charging the officer and butting him hard. The Theban soldiers stopped pretending to be servants and threw their double-bladed daggers with deadly precision.

  Meanwhile, Moustache, the Afghan and ten men arrived by means of a minor road shown on a map which had belonged to the traitor Titi. Taking advantage of the enemy’s slackness, they scaled the watchtower and killed the archers.

  In less than a quarter of an hour, the Hyksos garrison was wiped out. The Egyptians had suffered only two casualties, and they were minor wounds which She-Cat was already treating.

  ‘You played your part well, Governor,’ said Ahhotep, ‘and so did your people.’

  The governor was still shaking. ‘Majesty,’ he begged, ‘may we go home now?’

  ‘We still have four more forts to capture,’ replied the queen with a broad smile.

  35

  The last Hyksos attack had been murderous. With a courage bordering on foolhardiness, Ahmes, son of Abana, had managed to whip up the bravery of a hundred terrified youths and they had fought off a raiding-party of black-helmeted footsoldiers, the very sight of whom scared them out of their wits.

  Once the attack had been repulsed, only ten exhausted survivors were left. Covered in enemy blood, Ahmes did not even take the time to wash before speaking to Emheb.

  ‘It is finished, Governor. We can no longer hold the line.’

  ‘The message Rascal brought was perfectly clear,’ Emheb reminded him.

  ‘The Thebans have been delayed or killed—either way, they won’t come. If we don’t fall back, we’ll be wiped out.’

  The governor did not protest: Ahmes was right. ‘Give me one more day.’

  ‘If the Hyksos launch another attack, we won’t be able to hold. It would be playing with fire.’

  ‘As a general rule, they take their time—sometimes a lot of time—before they attack again.’

  ‘As a general rule, yes. But this time they saw that the front was no thicker than a sycamore leaf. In their place, I’d attack in the next few hours.’

  ‘We’ll organize our defence as best we can, and prepare to retreat.’

  Emheb had spent the night burying corpses in simple, hastily dug trenches. There were no sarcophagi, no papyri bearing the words of resurrection, not even an ordinary protective amulet. The governor could do nothing but speak an ancient invocation to Osiris, beseeching him to welcome into paradise these young men, who had not hesitated to give their lives in an attempt to vanquish the empire of darkness.

  And then dawn rose over an Egyptian camp which had no strength left. Two seriously wounded men died before the first rays of the sun were seen. Emheb buried them, too.

  ‘You must get some sleep,’ urged Ahmes.

  ‘Have you slept?’

  ‘I haven’t had time. We strengthened an earth bank, positioned defensive stakes and rebuilt low brick walls behind which our last archers will shelter. But it’s all useless …’

  ‘The boats are ready to leave. See that the wounded are embarked.’

  It was more than a dream crumbling, much more. Once the front at Qis had given way, the Hyksos would pour south and put Thebes to fire and the sword. After Ahhotep, no one would take up the torch. The invaders’ barbarity would become the common law, and the empire of darkness would grow ever larger.

  On the Hyksos side, all seemed quiet, and that was even more worrying. The enemy was probably awaiting the order from Avaris to launch the final attack and sweep away the rebels.

  Emheb ordered most of the soldiers to leave their posts and board the boats. Only the front line, made up entirely of volunteers, would remain in position.

  ‘Your cabin has been cleaned, Governor,’ said Ahmes. ‘You can go aboard.’

  ‘No, I’m staying here. You are to take command until you reach Thebes.’

  ‘But, sir, you’ll be needed there.’

  ‘Our world is on the point of death, my boy, and “there” no longer exists. I’d rather fight to the end with these lads. They’re half dead with fear, but they refuse to give in.’

  Then I shall stay as well. I’m the best archer in the Egyptian army, and I shall slow the Hyksos down a bit.’

  The two men embraced.

  ‘Take the left flank,’ ordered Emheb, ‘and I’ll take the right. When we can no longer hold the line, the survivors will regroup on the hill.’

  Ahmes knew only too well that they would not have time.

  Emheb had one final fear: that the Hyksos attack would begin before the boats left and that the whole flotilla would be sunk before they could get away. So they were cast off quickly, at the risk of causing an accident. Fortunately nothing untoward happened. The north wind swelled the sails and the voyage to Thebes began.

  Without a word, Emheb and Ahmes moved to their combat positions.

  ‘Sir,’ said Ahmes disbelievingly, ‘they’re coming back.’

  He stood up, but with a firm hand Emheb forced him down on to his belly again.

  ‘The boats—I swear to you, they’re coming back!’

  Emheb crawled up to a small hillock from which he could see the Nile but was out of range of Hyksos arrows.

  The youth had good eyesight. But why were those who could escape death returning to Qis? There could be only o
ne explanation: enemy vessels had forced them to turn back.

  Nothing. Emheb could do nothing more to save them. He and the front line were caught like rats in a trap. He decided to order the footsoldiers to disperse. But one thing puzzled him: on the decks of the boats, there was not a single sign of commotion. He even thought he saw sailors dancing for joy.

  A light shone from the powerful warship that seemed to be pursuing them.

  At first Emheb was dazzled, then he realized that the sun’s rays were glinting off the ‘Resplendently Bright One’, the White Crown of Pharaoh Kamose.

  In his last report, the Hyksos general commanding the front at Qis had fully reassured the emperor: the war of attrition had proved effective, and the Egyptians were at their last gasp. It was therefore pointless to move an army from the Delta. One last attack would suffice to destroy the last remnants of the front.

  ‘Is everything ready?’ he asked a member of his staff.

  ‘Yes, General. Your orders have been given to the officers.’

  ‘This will be almost too easy,’ thought the general.

  After this wretched war, which had been at stalemate for so long, the Hyksos would take delight in disembowelling the last rebels. And the general’s victory would be in Avaris, where he would certainly receive promotion. His boat would sail proudly up the main canal, with Governor Emheb’s severed head at its prow.

  Suddenly, a strange noise made him jump. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I’ve never heard it before,’ said the assistant, his stomach turning over.

  No Hyksos, indeed, had ever heard the maddening beat of the drums. Made in Nubia, they gave out fierce resonance, which put the fear of death into the Hyksos’ hearts.

  ‘It’s a new curse from Queen Ahhotep,’ exclaimed the assistant.

  ‘The Hyksos will never retreat because of some damned music!’ swore the general. ‘Prepare to attack.’

  A lookout ran up, his body dripping with sweat. ‘General, the Egyptian front line has been reinforced. There are at least three times as many soldiers there now, and more are still arriving.’

  ‘Where are they coming from?’

  ‘From boats arriving from the south, sir. I’ve even seen Egyptians congratulating each other, as if they’re no longer afraid.’

  Shaken, the general decided to check for himself. He followed the lookout up to a promontory from where he could see the enemy front line. What he saw took his breath away.

  On the highest hillock fluttered a standard bearing the emblem of Thebes, a bow and arrows. And the man who was holding it firmly in his right hand was young and strong, and wore the White Crown of Upper Egypt, which seemed to give off powerful rays of magical light.

  36

  The din of the Thebans’ night-long celebrations, which were accompanied by drums, plunged the Hyksos into uncertainty.

  Roasted lamb, bean paste, soft cheeses … With their bellies and hearts full of the joy of the feast, the Egyptians had the strength to believe in victory again. Now that supply-boats could get through, they were regaining the strength they would need to fight the emperor’s troops.

  Kamose was less optimistic. He did not hide the reality of the situation from Emheb. ‘The messages brought by the carrier-pigeons inform me that my mother has taken the Hyksos forts on the road from Kebet to the Red Sea. But she has had to station Egyptian soldiers there as garrisons, and we have left many others in Nubia and at Elephantine, to hold our positions. I hope that she will soon join us, but with how big an army?’

  ‘In other words, Majesty, we need more men.’

  ‘We cannot mass all our forces at Qis. The Nubians would counter-attack from the south, and Thebes would be in danger.’

  ‘Then we shall resort once again to a war of trenches and attrition. If the Hyksos repeat their savage attacks, how often will we be able to repel them?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ confessed the pharaoh, ‘but we shall not withdraw.’

  *

  ‘All is ready, Majesty,’ declared the High Priest of the Temple of Set, as the bearers set down the emperor’s chair and he stepped out.

  Unlike the pharaons, Apophis did not begin his day by celebrating a ritual. Usually he came to the shrine only to head a Great Council meeting, which often ended with the killing of an official who had become too insipid for his taste. This time, though, he was alone.

  ‘You and your fellow priests, leave us,’ he ordered.

  There was such menace in the emperor’s eyes that the High Priest scuttled away.

  Apophis entered the temple. The oil-lamps had been extinguished, but he moved easily through the shadows. On an altar at the far end, the priests had laid a beautiful statuette of Hathor. The face was so finely sculpted that it quivered with life. The curves of the body expressed at once love, nobility and tenderness.

  On another altar lay five daggers.

  ‘Obey me, Set,’ commanded the emperor. ‘Help me to destroy those who oppose my will.’

  Thunder rumbled overhead. Thick black clouds massed above the temple, and dogs bayed at the moon. There was only one bolt of lightning, but it was so fierce that it tore open the whole sky. It struck the daggers, whose blades became incandescent.

  With the first, Apophis decapitated the statuette and cut off its feet. He plunged two blades into its breasts and two more into its belly.

  ‘Die, accursed Ahhotep!’

  After halting beneath a carob-tree with thick foliage, and savouring its honey-sweet fruits, the queen headed for the temple at Dendera, which was surrounded by tall sycamores. By means of raids organized by Moustache and the Afghan, the Thebans had liberated, one by one, the villages still controlled by the Hyksos. The peasants had been swift to lend their aid to the army that had delivered them at last from unbearable tyranny.

  Suddenly, Ahhotep felt a sharp pain in her chest. Ignoring it, she walked on towards the Temple of Hathor, which she feared she would find laid waste. But fire flowed into her feet, and she had to stop.

  ‘Are you unwell, Majesty?’ asked the Afghan anxiously.

  ‘I’m a little tired—it’s nothing serious.’

  The next pain, in her stomach, was so bad that she could not breathe, and had to sit down. When her thoughts began to become confused, she realized what had happened.

  ‘It’s a curse. The emperor—it must be him. Take me into the temple.’

  Moustache and the Afghan ran to fetch a small boat from the canal where it was moored, and laid the queen in it. Twelve men lifted it up, ran to the great, crumbling gateway, and hurried through it.

  In the great courtyard lay broken stelae and statues. The likenesses of Hathor framing the entrance to the covered temple had been decapitated and mutilated.

  Three frightened priestesses, two young and one very old, greeted them on the threshold.

  ‘Do not violate this sacred place,’ said the old one. ‘To enter, you will first have to kill us.’

  ‘We are with the army of liberation,’ declared Moustache. ‘Queen Ahhotep is ill and needs your help.’

  The boat was set down upon the flagstones.

  Queen Ahhotep! The old priestess remembered her visit to Dendera with her husband, Pharaoh Seqen. She had given them the heka, the magical power that conferred the ability to influence the course of destiny. Today, though, its force seemed to have run dry.

  ‘The Emperor of Darkness is trying to seize my soul,’ said the queen. Only the Golden Goddess can tear me from his grasp.’

  The priestess laid her hand on Ahhotep’s forehead. ‘There is not a second to lose, Majesty. The fire of Set has already invaded most of your energy-channels. One of you men, help the queen to move.’

  With Moustache’s agreement, the Afghan lifted her in his arms, carrying his precious burden with anguish and reverence. Fortunately, the priestess walked slowly, and he was able to follow her without stumbling.

  Despite the Hyksos’ threats, the High Priestess of Dendera had not revealed the hiding-place wh
ere Hathor’s sacred objects were kept; even under torture, she had kept silent. Today she was being rewarded for her courage. She opened the sliding door of the secret room where the crown, sistra, necklaces and water-clock belonging to the Golden Goddess had been hidden. On the walls were painted scenes which She alone might see.

  ‘Lay the queen on the ground,’ she told the Afghan, ‘and leave.’

  When the door closed, a light sprang forth from a strange painting, an oval surrounded by a broken line, the first wave of creation, which had passed through matter and brought it to life. The vibration made the wall and Ahhotep’s body tremble.

  ‘The queen’s soul is immersed in the duat, the starry matrix where the many forms of life are ceaselessly born,’ explained the High Priestess. ‘She must remain there for seventy hours, in the hope that the energy of Hathor will be more powerful than that of the Emperor of Darkness.’

  ‘Aren’t you certain?’ asked Moustache worriedly.

  ’I don’t know what kind of forces Apophis has used. If he called upon Set, who causes tumult in the universe, all Hathor’s love will not be too much.’

  ‘But surely the queen is in no danger of dying?’ whispered the Afghan.

  ‘May the Golden Goddess welcome her into her ship, which cuts through the darkness.’

  At the end of the seventieth hour, the High Priestess of Dendera opened the door of the secret room. For what seemed an eternity, there was nothing but silence. Moustache bit his lip, while the Afghan stood still as a stone.

  Eventually, Ahhotep appeared on the threshold of the little room that could so easily have been her tomb. Very pale, and walking unsteadily, she emerged from the darkness of the duat.

  Seeing her sway, the Afghan offered her his arm.

  ‘You must eat, Majesty,’ urged Moustache.

  ‘Before she does so, I must ensure that the queen is protected,’ decreed the High Priestess. ‘Wearing the goddess’s necklace, she will be safe from another attack.’

  The priestess entered the crypt and emerged with a menat. It was a strange object, formed from a necklace of gold beads and turquoises linked by two short cords to a gold counterweight which ended in a disc, which was to be placed on the nape of the neck.