by Andre Norton
"Prince Kamose knows men when he sets his eyes upon them, Lord," Kheti agreed. "He is no fortress soldier, but one who runs with his men in the wastes. There shall be work for bows, spears, and axes, for those who march at his heels." His head up, he sniffed at the mixed smells from the shore. "All towns are alike, save that some are bigger or older than others.
I shall keep a close eye upon these archers, Lord, lest they plan to go exploring for the reason of tasting strange beer or some such foolishness. Do we remain on this ship?"
The problem of their immediate quarters was solved when Nereb returned to the ship with the information that they were to be guests in his father's house until Pharaoh signified their future. So, with slave porters bearing their limited baggage, they marched through the crowded ways about the dockside of Thebes out into the wider avenues and so at length to the walled city homes of the nobles.
Though he was used to the simplicity of the frontier forts, Rahotep had been reared in the luxury of the Viceroy's palace in Nubia. And from the tales of his mother's servants, from the nostalgic reminiscenses of Hentre and Methen, he had built up a picture of the old northern capital that had led him to believe that Semna itself was as a Kush village when compared to Thebes. But reality erred from that picture. There was the setting of wealth, of fine and easy living, but it was only a setting. The jewels it had been fashioned to display were gone. Thebes was shabby, old, a beggarman of cities, shadow capital of a ravished land. And Rahotep, seeing the holes in the time-worn fabric, was as disconcerted as he had been at Prince Kamose's reception of his archers. The wealth of Egypt had been sucked north to the treasure houses of the invaders. There were only remnants left for her own people.
Just as Thebes was a shadow capital, so was Nereb's father a shadow officer of its rule. Sa-Nekluft, Treasurer of the North, Fanbearer on the right hand of Pharaoh, occupied an office without power or duties—for northern Egypt was enemy held and there was no tribute to be reckoned in its treasury, no business to transact in its judgment hall. Yet the very fact that Sa-Nekluft had his skeleton organization argued that time might work on their side once more and the Red House of the north rise beside the White of the south.
The porter admitted them to the outer court with a salute to Nereb, and they found themselves in a garden. Sa-Nek- luft's duties kept him in Thebes, but his house was that of a country nomarch. Trees grew in circular beds of watered earth, vines looped in trellises, and fronting them on the other side of a long pool were the two-storied central chambers with a high-roofed veranda extending out toward the water. Thebes was a caldron of baking heat under the sun, but here was an oasis of coolness.
There were bright rugs on the walls between the carved and painted pillars supporting the veranda roof, and the sides of the pool had been cleverly painted above the water line with reeds and dragonflies. The scent of flowers was in the air, and the noises of the city were so faint beyond the high walls that one could almost forget it existed.
A young gazelle picked a delicate path toward them, its wide eyes curious, and a dog-faced baboon, eating a date, made an indelicate comment and hurled the stone with such accuracy that it struck upon Kheti's quiver. Whereupon the baboon screamed in triumph and went to all fours in a victory dance.
The leopard cub, thoroughly aroused by such bad manners, spat and struggled in Rahotep's grip, eager to avenge the indignity upon an old enemy of his tribe. The captain had to use his cloak to bag the fighter for his own protection.
"Belikae!"
The baboon paused, its head turned over its shoulder to survey—a little apprehensively—the man coming along the edge of the pool. Then Nereb strode forward, going down on one knee, bowing his head beneath the sign the other sketched with his hand, before he rose and they embraced as close kinsmen.
"My lord"—Nereb beckoned to the Nubian party— "may I bring before you the Commander Methen, once Captain of the Striking Hawk, the Captain Rahotep, leader of
Desert Scouts and son to the Viceroy of Nubia that was, and the worthy Kheti, Leader of Ten among the Scouts, also those archers who have pledged themselves to the service of Pharaoh in the sight of Amon-Re—"
The Nubian force saluted. Sa-Nekluft smiled, making quick acknowledgment of their deference.
"To the Commander Methen, the Captain Rahotep, and those of their company, welcome, three times welcome! It has been long since those of the south have come to serve under Pharaoh in this city. But neither has it been forgotten how well they served in the past! This roof is your roof as long as you have need—"
He clapped his hands and gave swift orders to the serving man who answered. The archers were to be quartered with his own guard, and Kheti was introduced to his officers, while Rahotep and Methen were accorded the welcome of honored guests.
Though the magnificence about him might be faded, the appearance of wealth but a slicking of paint across sun-dried and powdery wood, yet Rahotep was ill at ease as he rummaged through his chest of possessions, hunting for the best of his limited changes of apparel. His single piece of "gold of valor," granted him on the occasion of a successful border foray the year before, was a cuff bracelet, a plain band of gold with the figures of lions raised above a background of minute bits of dark blue lapis lazuli. And he could wear the twin upper armlets of his rank, simple gold rings inset with the hawk of his mother's family in green malachite.
But for the rest he had only a warrior's dress, not even the transparent overskirt of a nobleman. Well, what was he but a warrior? He would proclaim his calling openly. But he took care in donning the finely pleated kilt of linen, the cross belts for the upper body, and in adjusting his sphinx head- cloth with determination that its ends lie smooth and even on his shoulders. A last searching examination of his person in the bronze mirror showed him a figure fit to appear at a military inspection, if not in the company of noble feasters.
Though the last buckle was clasped, the last stiff fold in place, Rahotep still lingered in the guest chamber, reluctant to venture out into the bustle of the great hall where Sa-Nek- luft was entertaining. Had the captain been sent directly to the barracks, he would have been far happier. But to plunge so directly into a life of which he knew very little, of which, in the person of Unis, he knew little good, was an ordeal that awakened in him those same uneasy symptoms he experienced before a dawn attack. And because he recognized those, he moved to attack—or rather to face those in the great hall.
Lucidly he counted of low rank among the present assembly, and as such, he would not be given one of the seats of honor with his host at the upper end. He hesitated a moment in the doorway, trying to mark down some seating mat behind a pillar or in a corner from which he could spy out the land and yet not be noted. But he was not to escape so easily, for Nereb appeared out of nowhere to hail him.
After one swift glance at the northern officer's dress, Rahotep felt more keenly than ever the pinch of his own poverty, for the Theban wore not only a gold circlet of rank binding in his ceremonial wig, but a wide collar, armlets, and belt ax, all gold and gem-set. On the other hand, his kilt was the short one of a field soldier, though its front lappet was ornamented.
"Captain, General Amony has come and would speak with you."
With a swallowed sigh Rahotep followed the other on a path threaded between occupied seat mats to the upper end of the hall, where the stools of lesser nobles and the high chairs of the chief guests stood in an irregular half circle, each with a small table loaded with delicacies to hand.
In passing, Rahotep marked Methen seated on a stool and deep in talk with an older man in the dress of an Amon priest and an even older one with the look of an administrator- scribe. Then they reached the high seats, and Rahotep bowed to Sa-Nekluft. Beside the treasurer sat a thick-bodied man with a width of shoulder almost that of a Kush warrior. His short soldier's wig was crowned with the circlet of a general, and his arms and chest glittered with what could only be gold of valor, since the bee and lion designs were repeate
d over and over in bracelets, armlets, pectoral, collar, ax, and belt. He was holding a goblet as the two young men advanced, and he did not put it down but surveyed Rahotep levelly over its rim as he drank.
He smacked his lips as he held it empty. "Truly drawn from the jars of the gods, Lord Treasurer. A mouthful of that washes away all dust of the road. So—this is your archer?"
Since he had not yet been named to the general, Rahotep stood to attention, looldng beyond the man to the carpet stretched across the wall behind him. But he knew that he was being examined from head to foot and back again critically, and he willed himself not to flush under that cool evaluation, which was more searching—and perhaps more hostile —than that he had met from the prince that morning.
"Present him!" The order came as a growl, and Rahotep dared not relax outwardly, though he knew a tiny thrill within. The general was accepting him as an officer of the forces, no matter that his rank was humble.
"The Captain Rahotep of the Desert Scouts, out of Nubia, General."
Nereb obediently made the introduction, and Rahotep saluted with palms at knee level.
"Nubia," the general repeated thoughtfully. "Frontier service against the Kush, Captain? "
"Aye, lord."
"Fal-Falm, Khoris, Sebra, Kah-hi—" That listing of forts came as a volley of arrows, and Rahotep replied as quickly, masking his amazement that a general in Thebes would be able to name such obscure frontier posts.
"Fal-Falm, Lord, and Kah-hi—"
"Nereb tells me that you have brought a detachment of your men with you—"
Now Rahotep did flush, forced to admit to one who commanded his thousands the smallness of his own force. "Ten only, Lord—and my Leader of Ten—they are all volunteers from Kah-hi—seasoned trackers and Scouts."
"Aye." The general was frowning. "That was a bad business, Sa-Nekluft, the naming of regiments in that order."
The Treasurer of the North nodded. "They would consult the old rolls in spite of all advice—"
General Amony snorted with the contempt of a man of action for bureaucratic officials. "Pen fighters! Everything must be done as always it has been!" He clasped the goblet, which he had been turning in his fingers, down on his table, and a serving man hurried to refill it. "So because they consult old lists we lack men. But"—he took up the staff of office lying across his knees and tapped the palm of his left hand with its lion head—" 'the power of righteousness is that it endures.' " Then his fleshy lips shaped a smile. "Surprised, Captain, to hear a warrior quote the Great Elder? But it is true. And this time when the Flail is lifted in battle, it will take more than the mistakes of scribes to hold back our chariots and the arms of our bowmen. Also I do not think we shall ever get three regiments from Nubia unless we pluck them forth with our own fingers! There is mischief brewing there—" His eyes, under their heavy, drooping lids, were intent upon Rahotep with the fixity of an inquisitor.
"You are Ptahhotep's son, Captain?"
"His second son, Lord, not his heir."
"So—well, I knew your grandfather, the Hawk, well. We were shield brothers when we were in the House of Captains as lads. He was first a warrior, and his last stand against the Hyksos has made a tale of valor for the camps to sing. He would look with favor upon a grandson who was a soldier on the Kush frontier and has now taken service with Pharaoh. To my mind he has left you a good heritage, boy."
Rahotep understood. The burly Amony was not referring to the vanished nome where his grandfather had ruled, but to the blood in his veins, the determination that had held him to his duties at Kah-hi in exile. It was the same kind of determination that had led the Hawk to struggle—if hopelessly —against the invader.
"He revolted too soon." Amony now gazed down the hall as if he saw not feasting but a sight far more grim. "But when that Hyksos lordling made a southern journey and demanded the Lady Tuya for his House of Women, then did Re-Hesy call out his men and raise the battle standard. He was crushed as millet is crushed in the grinder—too soon. Now those serpents have ruled in peace so long that they grow fat and sluggish, lolling in their high seats undisturbed, counting out their tribute tallies unquestioned, pinching out the lives of men between thumb and forefinger, bringing the blood and defilement of their devil god into sacred places."
"To all things there comes an end in the chosen time," Sa-Nekluft broke in. "Egypt has lain under shadows before and arisen mightier than ever."
Amony nodded, his hand going out once more to the waiting goblet.
"Captain"—there was dismissal in his tone—"I would see more of these archers of yours, but this is not the hour for the display of skill such as Nereb has described to me. We can use you—of that there is no doubt. And to the Hawk's daughter's son—!" He raised his goblet to his lips, and Rahotep seized hurriedly upon another Nereb handed him to return the toast.
"To the Lord General," he murmured as the tartness of the liquid spilled across his tongue.
Somehow he took the proper two steps backward without stumbling over any mat or bringing up against a stool, and then he was glad when Nereb steered him to the left, where, behind some pillars that provided an effective screen from their elders, he was brought into a gathering of nobles and officers closer to him in age and not so far above him in rank. Had he not been sponsored by a commander of Prince Kamose's guard, he wondered if he would have met such ready acceptance in that group where clothing and arms so far outshone his own. But it seemed that here also Nubia was a magic password, and while some of the brightly clad courtiers were seemingly bored by the military talk of the officers, there were three or four who ringed Rahotep in, questioning him about frontier warfare and the methods of Kush raiding.
"Barbarians," commented one of the nobles scornfully. His already large eyes were rimmed with malachite, and his be- ringed fingers smoothed his transparent shoulder cloak into the proper folds whenever he moved and dislodged their careful display, "Savages—"
"But fighters!" Nereb corrected as he clapped his hands to summon a servant with food for Rahotep and himself. One of the officers leaned forward to address the captain.
"Your men are all archers? And their bows are of unusual size. What is their far range—"
Nereb laughed and cut in before Rahotep could answer. "Would you know more than our lord, Seker? The captain and his command have not yet appeared before Pharaoh."
"War—always battle and the range of spears, the massing of chariots," cut in the young man who had commented upon the barbarian Kush. "This is a feast and not the barracks of the guard. And what is that?"
He pointed so dramatically at a spot halfway down the hall that all the group followed the line of his finger with their eyes. Something small and black, almost a blot of shadow, had detached itself from a pillar and was making its way determinedly among the clusters of occupied mats in a series of small rushes, crouching low at each halt.
Rahotep got to his feet even as a lady leaned forward, her lotus wreath drooping askew from her wig, to investigate the creature that had at that moment taken refuge in the lee of her somewhat substantial person. She reached out a plump hand with an exaggerated coo of delight and then gave a small shriek, which was neither coy nor affected, as Rahotep closed the distance between them in a few desert-trained strides.
He scooped up the leopard cub and made his apologies and explanations to the lady. She sucked a slightly clawed finger and smiled up at him, after a frank appraisal of his person, accepting his words with a very gracious smile, which faded quickly when he bowed himself away, the cub in his arms, now padding a playful paw at his dangling throat amulet.
The young men hailed the captain's return with amusement and would have passed the cub from hand to hand, but, as usual, he snarled and swiped out warningly with unsheathed claws. Rahotep excused himself.
"Bis must be returned to safe keeping. He is not yet mannered well enough for company."
But when the captain passed into the corridor leading to his room, he
was in no hurry to finish his errand. The warring scents within the hall, the chatter and drone of many voices, the strangeness of the company, made him restless. Still holding Bis, he went on into the garden, busied in trying to sort out his impressions of the crowded day. When a low voice addressed him from behind, he reverted to frontier alertness and spun to one side in a half crouch, his dagger ready in Ills hand.
There was a dry chuckle from the man who had hailed him.
"I assure you, Captain Rahotep, I am no assassin. Rather am I messenger. You are summoned—"
"By whom and to where?" Rahotep countered. He was flustered, but he did not want the other to guess that.
"By one who has the right to command all within the boundaries of the Two Lands!" The note of humor had gone out of that voice now. "Come at once, Captain."