The Theban army did not go with the confidence of men knowing they cannot be defeated. That sort of brashness made one imprudent and careless. They went watchful and wary, with their hackles raised, their eyes open, and their ears perked to the very air around them. No, they were not foolhardy, especially after the sobering battle of Swentet.
Once Mentuhotep’s army had broken through the blockade, and pushed into the harbor, many of the enemy forces retreated into the town, and most of the fighting occurred in pockets dispersed throughout the settlement, where a deadly match of hide and seek ensued between the opposing forces. Groups of the enemy lay in ambush, waiting for Mentuhotep’s men to approach unsuspectingly, before rushing at them in a frenzy of sharpened blades, spiked maces, spears and battle axes. Others were crouched on the rooftops of mud-brick buildings, their arrows ready to besiege the infiltrating men.
But those men who were with Khu had the advantage of benefiting from his intuition. He would slow down, raise a hand for his men to stop, then point out the location where the ambush awaited them, all without saying a word. And when he gave the signal, they would charge into the startled enemy who had not expected the counterattack.
At one point Khu was up against ten men as he and his soldiers were busy fending off a much larger group of attackers. They grinned and grunted as they rushed at him with sharpened blades and savage strikes. With a dagger in one hand and a short sword in another, Khu alternately parried and lunged at his foes. Men bellowed and roared as they speared, chopped and hacked at the air where Khu had stood only an instant before. But each time, he stepped aside and deflected their blows as easily as though their attacks had been nothing but a pantomime of child’s play.
One by one Khu slayed his opponents until a much larger man lunged at him from behind. He was a hulking beast of fighter who was almost three times the size and weight of Khu. His thick skull bore a twisted rendering of frightening scars, yellowed teeth, and bulging eyes that reminded Khu of an angry hippopotamus bull.
His first attack came just as Khu killed an opponent, and he slashed at Khu’s arm, cutting him with an ax. It was a shallow wound that looked much worse than it was. Like a predator whose hunger for the kill is sharpened by the drawing of first blood, the beast bellowed as he swung and hammered his rage at Khu with a surprising agility and speed that were unexpected for one of his bulk.
Khu parried the jarring blows, but his short sword broke cleanly in half from the strength of the impact, and he threw the useless weapon to the ground. He ducked and sidestepped quickly away as the beast advanced howling. And as the man charged, angrily swinging his ax towards Khu’s neck, Khu dove for his beefy legs, slashing through his left knee, instantly maiming him. The beast shrieked in pain, falling to the ground as Khu drove his dagger into the back of his neck, silencing him for good.
Khu’s men were in awe of their leader, and they followed closely behind him as he left the bloody scene and led his men deeper into the town, fighting off adversaries at every turn. It was about two hundred paces away that they ran into Nakhti and a large group of his own men. Khu sensed the presence of his brother as though Nakhti had stepped out in front of his path. He felt Nakhti’s excitement and the adrenaline flooding his veins.
“Nakhti!” he called out as they neared a blind corner where his brother had laid a trap for unsuspecting foes.
“Khu!” Nakhti said happily, stepping around a wall to clap his brother on the back. “It is well that you announced yourself or we would have made a bloody offering of your flesh.” He laughed at his own exaggeration, knowing full well that the opposite was true.
Nakhti loved and admired his brother, and there was no one he would have preferred to have by his side during battle than he. Khu was a formidable warrior with the knack for finding concealed enemy like an eagle spying a hare from a great distance. Nakhti was naturally daring, but he felt invincible by Khu’s side, and they stayed together for much of the battle until one of Nakhti’s best fighters and closest friends was badly injured.
The man had sustained a stabbing wound to his lower back, and needed immediate medical attention. Nakhti insisted on accompanying his friend back to the shore himself, by which many of Mentuhotep’s men were stationed, including doctors trained in surgery and the treating of wounds. He left with his men after wishing his brother good fortune and the favor of the gods.
Khu continued combing the town until he arrived to a temple complex dedicated to the jackal-headed god Anubis and the war god Wepwawet who was depicted as a wolf. Wepwawet’s name meant Opener of the Ways, for he was believed to ensure safe passage through life and the Underworld. Khu stopped when he arrived at the Temple of Anubis, where a large bronze brazier had been lit during the night, and still burned in front of the pylon. Some of his men touched the amulets hanging from their necks, as they beheld the colossal figure of Anubis carved in relief onto the pylon. The jackal-headed god of the dead was shown standing upright with a human body, and he was holding the Was scepter in his right hand, and the ankh key of life in his left.
Directly over the pylon’s center rested a statue of Anubis in full animal form of a jackal. The oversized stone depiction of the god was facing forward with his front legs stretched out before him, as he guarded the temple’s entrance. And as the smoke of the brazier rose in a grayish cloud, it tricked the eye into thinking that the jackal-god was truly alive. The huge statue seemed to breathe as the air quivered around him, and Khu’s men were momentarily filled with fear. Then Khu waved his men around the temple to prevent anyone who might be hiding within its holy grounds from escaping.
But no one was inside.
“No one is here,” Khu said, after looking around some more. “Let’s go.” He was going to lead his men toward the town’s wealthier homes where more officials might be lying in ambush, but then stopped to sweep the area one more time before leaving.
Something was not right.
Khu felt the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. And although he could not see anyone, he felt the presence of something evil. He stepped cautiously down a narrow street, slowing down as he approached a corner. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, and the same sense of dread he had felt in Abdju years before was back. It was a vague and generalized fear that went beyond the immediate moment. It was a kind of preternatural instinct cautioning every nerve in his body to be on heightened alert.
Khu moved farther away from the temple complex and headed deeper into the town where his men had gone before him. The sounds of screams and shouting rose above the settlement, as did the smoke from the remaining ships in Khety’s blockade, which continued to burn beyond the harbor. He walked slowly, pausing now and again to listen and feel the air around him with that sixth sense he possessed. Every step seemed to take him farther from the evil that had rattled him. He retraced some of his steps in an attempt to near its villainous source, but his efforts were futile. Like the black smoke blown away by the northerly winds, the evil lurking nearby had simply vanished.
For now.
The fighting continued long after dawn brightened the sky in glowing shades of persimmon and plum, illuminating the wealthy province that was the cult center of the funerary gods Anubis and Wepwawet. Zawty had been largely independent during the time following the disintegration of the Old Kingdom, but then it sided with Khety against Mentuhotep in the struggle for control between the opposing kingdoms. It supported the Nen-nesian ruler with its troops and its treasury, knowing that it would be rewarded well once Khety defeated Mentuhotep.
Khety’s spies had kept him abreast of Mentuhotep’s wins and losses over the years, and he knew that his nemesis’s army had grown stronger, even with the setback at Swentet. But the price of the information had been steep—costing him the lives of three of his most cunning emissaries, after they were discovered by several of the Theban generals. And like Odji, whose head was sent back to Mentuhotep in Thebes, Khety had received a mysterious package wrapped in coarse li
nen, with the heads of those three emissaries.
Included in the package was a small scroll with a simple message: “Thrice over has the gift been repaid.”
The Nen-nesian king had turned his face away when the package was opened, and the message was read. The lines between his brows had deepened as he turned away and shut his eyes.
Khety sent fewer spies after that; at least he was more careful about where he sent them, so that their lives were not at risk. Unlike Ankhtifi who had not shown any remorse or emotion whatsoever after losing some of his own men in battle, Khety valued the lives of the men who served him. But Ankhtifi’s only concern was with the inconvenience their deaths had cost him.
Khety had since focused on hiring new mercenaries, conscripting more men into his army, and on quashing any revolts or attacks from the nomadic invaders infiltrating Lower Egypt from the Nile Delta. And while his army had grown stronger, Khety knew that Mentuhotep’s had as well.
“He has hired and trained many more men,” one of his generals had reported two years before.
“But he has lost men too,” another countered, referring to the battle at Swentet. “He has lost men, including his military chancellor who nearly died. The man lost an arm, and has since been replaced.”
“By whom?” Khety had asked. He had never met Qeb, but he had heard of the exceptional Kushite warrior.
“One of his own sons,” the man answered, shrugging as though it meant nothing.
Khety did not know whether or not to believe the reports he had heard regarding the number of Theban troops, and he listened with a measure of skepticism. Either way, he knew that he would have to face those troops again. And if Mentuhotep’s army was indeed larger than his own, he would have to rely on more than brute strength.
He would have to somehow outwit his archenemy.
Outwitting the enemy is precisely what both sides attempted to do now, as they grappled for control over Zawty. Men fought along the riverbank and harbor, throughout the town’s narrow roads, near the orderly blocks of mud-brick homes, inside structures or on rooftops where some of the enemy waited in ambush, through the open marketplaces that were presently deserted, and by the shrines, temples and monuments dominating the wealthy province.
Men shrieked and shouted to mask their own fear, as they swung, stabbed and slashed at each other in a welter of rage and destruction. Others jeered, throwing insults and challenges as they alternately parried and thrust at their opponents. They spit curses at each other, invoking their gods to strike them down, blight their crops, disease their livestock, and sicken their families.
Mentuhotep’s men fought knowing that everything they cherished and believed in was at stake with this battle, while Khety’s men fought hard to protect the Nen-nesian king, and to keep the Theban forces from capturing the town.
Qeb remained by Mentuhotep’s side, fighting like a demon each time they confronted the enemy. The king was strong and skilled with his weapons, but Qeb possessed a certain grace that made him swift and nimble despite his disability and his larger size. As men attacked the Kushite warrior, mistaking him for easy prey, Qeb would sidestep or leap backwards, letting some of the blows go unparried as his opponents lunged more savagely each time, trying to break his rhythm. He would suddenly catch them off guard as he edged unexpectedly closer before delivering a roundhouse kick to the head, or a front kick to the groin, finishing with a death stroke of his scimitar to the belly or throat.
The former military chancellor remained a force to be reckoned with. He was adept at fighting with his legs as he was with his good arm. Those men who were foolish enough to underestimate and attack him, were defeated like a troop of unwary baboons confronting a fearless leopard.
The Theban army steadily gained the upper hand in the battle, leading some of Khety’s men to panic and flee. Although Mentuhotep had sustained losses in the fighting, most of which were in the early part of the battle and during the ambush on the Nile, the heaviest losses were suffered by Khety’s army, which was indeed smaller than that of the Theban king, despite the backing of Zawty’s forces. Morale among Khety’s men quickly plummeted as more and more of his supporters were caught, subdued, and pinioned with their arms behind their backs, many of whom were treated like traitors, and killed with a swift fatal blow to the head. While others who surrendered promptly were given quarter and their lives were spared.
King Khety fought hard despite the odds against him. This was not like the previous battle years before in Abdju. There was nowhere for him to go from here; nowhere to recoup his losses, no pilgrims to sway to his cause, no more settlements to conquer, and no army to lead after the last of his men were defeated. He was getting older and had also grown embittered and demoralized as the glorious vision of a kingdom under his rule faded with the years.
Although it did not take long for Khety to suspect that defeat was inevitable and his cause was lost, he was too proud to flee. He refused to run away like a coward and abandon the men who had remained faithful to his cause. He refused to betray their trust and their loyalty. They had fought for him and a dream that had all but vanished. And so he remained, fighting like a victor defending the men who had sworn their lives to him. He fought with every fiber of his being.
But Ankhtifi had no such intention.
At first the former chieftain of Nekhen fought determinedly by Khety’s side, despite his limp from the leg wound he had suffered from Khu in Abdju years before. The strongest of Ankhtifi’s soldiers accompanied them as they used their daggers, axes and maces to kill as many of Mentuhotep’s men as possible. They hammered and hacked at their opponents, killing or driving away those men who dared to attack them. But as the fighting grew fiercer, and their army dwindled in the slaughter, Ankhtifi finally left Khety’s side.
Like the wolves and jackals that are opportunistic hunters, preying on what is convenient and available, Ankhtifi saw no opportunity nor benefit in sacrificing himself for Khety’s dying cause. He did not believe in self-sacrifice.
The only cause he truly believed in was his very own.
If there was nothing to be gained for himself, he would waste no time, nor put forth any effort which would not be of benefit to him. So he extracted himself from the chaos, and quietly slipped away in the midst of the fighting, to try and flee the settlement. He loped silently away like a low-ranking, cowardly wolf.
Leaving Khety and the others to fend for themselves alone.
Ankhtifi headed for Zawty’s harbor after deserting Khety. He left alone, not wanting to be bothered or hindered by anyone else. But when he saw Mentuhotep’s men guarding the port, he backed away again into the town.
He thought of his escape options.
The best and easiest route on the Nile was no longer available to him. The Theban fleet had secured the river north and south of Zawty’s harbor, with explicit instructions to keep anyone other than Mentuhotep’s forces, from entering or leaving the province. Absconding on foot through the desert beyond the floodplain was not feasible either, especially with his lame leg that made it difficult to walk for any distance or length of time. He thought of hiding in one of the temples where he could wait until nightfall, but dismissed the idea before long since he would only be trapping himself inside.
Ankhtifi had seen the Theban soldiers searching the perimeter of the temple complex, and had left the area promptly to avoid being caught. Although he did not recognize Khu and his men when they had neared the Temple of Anubis, he instinctively knew they were enemies. And he slunk away to avoid them.
The lupine warrior had shrunk over the years since his leg injury. It was mostly due to the stoop in his posture which he had acquired from his awkward gait. He was eerily calm despite his circumstances, and believed he would escape easily as he had always gotten away with things in the past. But he blamed others for his own failures, including Khety who had only made him lose his settlement in Nekhen after the revolt in Abdju. While supporting Khety had made him prosperous over the
years, it had eventually led to the forfeiture of his settlement.
Ankhtifi kept to the shadows by the mud-brick buildings as he hobbled through the town. He moved slowly, scanning the streets with his dark eyes, and ducking out of sight whenever he heard or saw someone coming his way. After exploring his limited options, an idea began to take shape in his mind. If he could not escape through obvious means, he would do so another way. Sometimes hiding in plain sight is the best way to elude capture. He knew he was smarter than everyone else, and he knew how to manipulate even the direst circumstances to his best advantage. So he glanced behind him once again, drawing his cloak over his head, as he skulked through the streets in silence.
***
It was toward the end of the fighting that Mentuhotep and Khety finally came face-to-face.
The sun-god Re had already journeyed halfway across the sky in his Mandjet solar boat, from where he watched Khety’s entire fleet burn to ashes before being swallowed up by the Nile as it sank beneath its murky surface. The great smoke cloud smeared across the clear sky, drifting south as the winds scattered the dark fumes over the river.
Little damage was done to the town in the swiftness of the battle, and most of its buildings were left untouched. Even Anubis remained seated over the pylon’s entrance, where he continued to gaze out over the grounds that had been witness to the fighting. The jackal-god of the dead watched in silence, his expression unreadable, as the enemy’s soldiers were apprehended and led away, including the temple priests who had remained sequestered within their mud-brick homes during much of the fighting. They too were led away with their heads bowed under the linen cloaks they had drawn protectively about themselves.
King Khety ran into Mentuhotep in an open area that had been used as a marketplace previously. It was deserted now. Empty tables and overturned reed baskets lying on the dirt ground are all that remained in the forgotten stalls.
Khu: A Tale of Ancient Egypt Page 26