by Wilbur Smith
The sun was setting before he reined in his mare again, and spoke: “The main caravan road lies just beyond the next line of hills. We must cross it, but enemies may be watching for us there.”
They left the horses tethered in a hidden wadi, with a few handfuls of crushed dhurra millet in their leather nosebags to keep them contented, then climbed cautiously to the crest of the hills and found a vantage-point behind a bank of purple shale from which they could look down onto the caravan road below.
“We will lie here until dark,” Taita explained. “Then we will cross.”
“I don’t understand what you are doing, Tata. Why are we traveling east? Why don’t we return to Thebes, and the protection of Pharaoh, my father?”
Taita sighed softly and closed his eyes. How do I tell him? I cannot hide it much longer. Yet he is a child still, and I should shield him.
It was almost as if Nefer had read his thoughts, for he laid his hand on Taita’s arm and said quietly, “Today, on the mountain, I proved that I am a man. Treat me as one.”
Taita nodded. “Indeed, you proved it.” Before he went on he swept another look along the well-beaten road below them, and immediately ducked his head. “Someone coming!” he warned.
Nefer flattened himself behind the shale bank and they watched the column of dust coming swiftly down the caravan road from the west. By this time the valley was in deep shadow and the sky was filled with all the glorious shades of the sunset.
“They are moving fast. Those are not merchants, they are fighting chariots,” Nefer said. “Yes, I can see them now.” His bright young eyes had picked out the shape of the leading chariot, with the teamed horses trotting ahead of the charioteer on his high carriage. “They are not Hyksos,” he went on, as the shapes hardened and drew closer, “they are ours. A troop of ten chariots. Yes! See the pennant on the leading vehicle.” The fluttering pennant on the long, limber bamboo rod rode high above the rolling dust cloud. “A cohort of the Phat Guards! We are safe, Tata!”
Nefer sprang to his feet and waved both hands over his head. “Here!” he yelled. “Here, the Blues. Here I am. I am Prince Nefer!”
Taita reached up a bony hand and hauled him down violently. “Get down, you little fool. Those are the minions of the cobra.”
He shot another quick glance over the bank, and saw that the leading charioteer must have spotted Nefer on the skyline, for he had whipped his team into a canter and was tearing up the road toward them.
“Come!” he told Nefer. “Hurry! They must not catch us.”
He dragged the boy off the ridge and started down the slope. After his initial reluctance, Nefer was spurred on by Taita’s haste. He began to run in earnest, jumping from rock to rock, but he could not catch the old man. Taita’s long skinny legs flew and the silver mane of his hair streamed out behind him. He reached the horses first, and was on the mare’s bare back in a single leap.
“I don’t understand why we are running from our own people,” Nefer panted. “What is happening, Tata?”
“Mount! No time now to talk. We must get clear.”
As they galloped out of the mouth of the wadi and into the open, Nefer shot a longing look back over his shoulder. The leading chariot came soaring over the top of the ridge, and the driver let out a shout, but the distance and the rumble of the wheels muffled his voice.
Earlier, Taita had led them through an area of broken volcanic rock through which no chariot would find a way. Now they rode for it, the horses running shoulder to shoulder, and stride for stride.
“If we can get among the rocks, we can lose them during the night. There is only a whisper of daylight left.” Taita looked up at the last glow of the sun that had already sunk behind the western hills.
“A single horseman can always hold off a chariot,” Nefer declared, with a confidence he did not truly feel. But when he looked back over his shoulder he saw it was true. They were pulling away from the troop of bouncing, jolting vehicles.
Before Nefer and Taita reached the broken ground the chariots had dropped so far behind that they were almost obscured by their own dust cloud and by the gathering blue dusk. As soon as they reached the fringe of rocks they were forced to bring the horses down to a cautious trot, but the footing was so dangerous and the light so bad that they were quickly reduced to a walk. In the last glimmer of the light Taita looked back and saw the dark shape of the leading chariot of the squadron halt at the edge of the bad ground. He recognized the voice of the driver who shouted after them, even though his words were faint.
“Prince Nefer, why do you flee? You need not fear us. We are the Phat Guards, come to escort you home to Thebes.”
Nefer made as if to turn his horse’s head. “That is Hilto. I know his voice so well. He is a good man. He is calling my name.”
Hilto was a famous warrior, who wore the Gold of Valor, but Taita ordered Nefer onward sternly.
“Don’t be deceived. Trust nobody.”
Obediently Nefer rode on into the wilderness of broken rock. The faint shouts behind them dwindled and were snuffed out by the eternal silence of the desert. Before they had gone much farther the darkness forced them to dismount and walk through the difficult places where the twisting path narrowed, and sharp pillars of black stone might maim a careless horse or shatter the wheels of any vehicle that tried to follow them through. At last they had to stop to water and rest the horses. They sat close together and, with his dagger, Taita sliced a loaf of dhurra bread, and they munched it as they talked softly.
“Tell me of your vision, Tata. What did you truly see when you worked the Mazes of Ammon Ra?”
“I told you. They were obscured.”
“I know that is not true.” Nefer shook his head. “You said that to protect me.” He shivered from the chill of the night, and from the sense of dread that had been his constant companion ever since that visitation of evil at the falcons’ nest. “You saw something of terrible portent, I know you did. That is why we are fleeing now. You must tell me all your vision. I must understand what is happening to us.”
“Yes, you are right,” Taita agreed at last. “It is time for you to know.” He put out one thin arm and drew Nefer close under his shawl—the boy was surprised by the warmth of the old man’s skinny frame. Taita seemed to be collecting his thoughts, and then at last he spoke.
“In my vision I saw a great tree growing on the banks of Mother Nile. It was a mighty tree and its blooms were blue as hyacinth and over it hung the double crown of the Upper and Lower Kingdoms. In its shade were all the multitudes of this very Egypt, men and women, children and graybeards, merchants and farmers and scribes, priests and warriors. The tree gave them all protection, and they prospered mightily and were content.”
“That was a good vision.” Eagerly Nefer translated it, the way Taita had taught him: “The tree must have been Pharaoh, my father. The color of the House of Tamose is blue, and my father wears the double crown.”
“That is the meaning as I read it.”
“Then what did you see, Tata?”
“I saw a serpent in the muddy waters of the river, swimming toward where the tree stood. It was a mighty serpent.”
“A cobra?” Nefer guessed, and his voice was small and fearful.
“Yes,” Taita affirmed, “it was a great cobra. And it crawled from the waters of the Nile and climbed into the tree, twisting itself around the trunk and the branches until it seemed part of the tree, supporting it and giving it strength.”
“That I do not understand,” Nefer whispered.
“Then the cobra reared up above the uppermost branches of the tree, struck down and buried its fangs in the trunk.”
“Sweet Horus.” Nefer shuddered. “Was it the same snake that tried to bite me, do you think?” He did not wait for an answer, but went on quickly, “What did you see then, Tata?”
“I saw the tree wither, fall and shatter. I saw the cobra still reared triumphantly on high, but now it wore on its evil brow the double crow
n. The dead tree began to throw out green shoots, but as they appeared the serpent struck at them, and they, too, were poisoned and died.”
Nefer was silent. Although the meaning seemed evident, he was unable to voice his interpretation of the vision.
“Were all the green shoots of the tree destroyed?” he asked eventually.
“There was one that grew in secret, beneath the surface of the earth, until it was strong. Then it burst out like a mighty vine and locked itself in conflict with the cobra. Although the cobra attacked it with all its strength and venom, still it survived and had a life of its own.”
“What was the end of the conflict, Tata? Which of them triumphed? Which one wore the double crown at the end?”
“I did not see the end of the conflict, because it was obscured in the smoke and dust of war.”
Nefer was silent for so long that Taita thought he had fallen asleep, but then the boy began to shake and he realized he was weeping. At last Nefer spoke, with a dreadful finality and certainty. “Pharaoh is dead. My father is dead. That was the message of your vision. The poisoned tree was Pharaoh. That was the same message at the falcons’ nest. The dead tiercel was Pharaoh. My father is dead, killed by the cobra.”
Taita could not answer him. All he could do was tighten his grip around Nefer’s shoulders, and try to impart strength and comfort to him.
“And I am the green shoot of the tree,” Nefer went on. “You saw this. You know that the cobra is waiting to destroy me as he did my father. That is why you would not let the soldiers take me back to Thebes. You know that the cobra waits for me there.”
“You are right, Nefer. We cannot return to Thebes until you are strong enough to defend yourself. We must fly from this very Egypt. There are lands and mighty kings to the east. It is my purpose to go to them and seek an ally to help us destroy the cobra.”
“But who is the cobra? Did you not see his face in the vision?”
“We know that he stands close to your father’s throne. For in the vision he was entwined with the tree and gave it support.” He paused, and then, as if making a decision, went on, “Naja is the name of the cobra.”
Nefer stared at him. “Naja!” he whispered. “Naja! Now I understand why we cannot return to Thebes.” He paused for a while, then said, “Wandering in the eastern lands we will become two outcasts, beggars.”
“The vision showed that you will grow strong. We must put our trust in the Mazes of Ammon Ra.”
Despite his grief for his father, Nefer slept at last, but Taita roused him in the darkness before dawn. They mounted again and rode eastward until the bad ground fell away behind them and Nefer thought he smelt the salt of the sea on the dawn wind.
“At the port of Seged we will find a ship to take us across to the land of the Hurrians.” Taita seemed to read what was in his mind. “King Sargon of Babylon and Assyria, those mighty kingdoms between the Tigris and the Euphrates, is your father’s satrap. He is bound in treaty to your father against the Hyksos, and all our mutual enemies. I think that Sargon will hold to that treaty, for he is an honorable man. We must trust that he will take us in and foster your claim to the throne of united Egypt.”
Ahead of them the sun came up in a furnace glow, and when they topped the next rise they saw the sea below them blazing like a freshly forged bronze war shield. Taita judged the distance. “We will reach the coast before the sun sets this evening.” Then, with narrowed eyes, he turned to look back over his mount’s rump. He stiffened as he made out not one but four separate plumes of yellow dust rising on the plain behind them. “Hilto, again,” he exclaimed. “I should have known better than to think that old rogue had given up the chase so readily.” He jumped up and stood erect on his horse’s back for a better field of view, an old cavalryman’s trick. “He must have detoured around the rocky ground in the night. Now he has thrown out a ring of chariots in an extended line to sweep for our tracks. He did not need a necromancer to tell him we must be heading east for the coast.”
Swiftly he looked in every direction for cover. Although the open stony plain over which they were traveling seemed devoid of any feature, he picked out an insignificant fold of ground that might offer concealment if they could reach it in time.
“Dismount!” he ordered Nefer. “We must keep as low as possible and raise no dust for them to spot us.” Silently he rebuked himself for not having taken more care to cover their tracks during the night. Now as they turned aside and led the horses toward the concealing fold of ground, he took care to avoid the patches of soft earth and keep to a natural rock pavement, which would leave no tracks. When they reached the hidden ground they found it was too shallow to cover a standing horse.
Nefer looked back anxiously. The nearest column of moving dust was less than half a league behind them, and coming on fast. The others were spread out in a wide semi circle.
“There is no place to hide here, and it’s too late to run now. Already they have us surrounded.” Taita slipped down from the back of his mare, spoke to her softly and stooped to caress her front legs. The mare stamped and snorted, but when he insisted, she lowered herself reluctantly and lay flat on her side still snorting in mild protest. Taita took off his kilt and used it to blindfold her, so that she would not attempt to stand up again.
Then he came quickly to Nefer’s colt and performed the same trick. When both horses were down he told Nefer sharply, “Lie at Stargazer’s head and hold him down if he tries to stand.”
Nefer laughed for the first time since he had learned of his father’s death. Taita’s way with animals never failed to enchant him. “How did you make them do that, Tata?”
“If you speak to them so that they understand, they will do whatever you tell them. Now, lie beside him and keep him quiet.”
They lay behind the horses and watched the encircling columns of dust sweep across the plain around them. “They won’t be able to pick out our tracks on the stony ground, will they, Tata?” Nefer asked hopefully.
Taita grunted. He was watching the approach of the nearest chariot. In the dancing mirage it seemed insubstantial, wavering and distorted as an image seen through water. It was moving quite slowly, weaving from side to side as it cast for spoor. Suddenly it moved forward with more determination and purpose, and Taita could see that the charioteer had picked up their tracks and was following them.
The chariot came on until they could make out the men on the footplate more clearly. They were leaning out over the dashboard, examining the earth as they passed over it. Suddenly Taita muttered unhappily, “By Seth’s stinking breath, they have a Nubian scout with them.”
The tall black man was made even taller by the headdress of heron’s feathers he wore. Five hundred cubits from where they lay concealed, the Nubian jumped down from the moving vehicle and ran ahead of the horses.
“They are at the spot where we turned aside,” Taita whispered. “Horus conceal our spoor from that black savage.” It was said that Nubian scouts could follow the track left by a swallow flying through the air.
The Nubian brought the chariot to a halt with a peremptory hand signal. He had lost the tracks where they turned onto the stony ground. Bent almost double, he circled out over the bare earth. At that distance he looked like a secretary bird hunting for serpents and rodents.
“Can you not weave a spell of concealment for us, Tata?” Nefer whispered uneasily. Taita had worked the spell for them often when they were hunting gazelle out on the open plains, and most times had enticed the dainty little animals within easy bow-shot without them becoming aware of the hunters. Taita did not reply, but when Nefer glanced across to where he lay he saw that the old man already had his most potent charm in his hand, a golden five-pointed star of exquisite workmanship, the Periapt of Lostris. Nefer knew that sealed within it was a lock of hair Taita had snipped from the head of Queen Lostris as she lay on the embalmer’s table before her deification. Taita touched it to his lips as he silently recited the canticle for Concealment from
the Eyes of an Enemy.
Out on the plain the Nubian straightened with a fresh air of purpose, and gazed straight in their direction.
“He has found the twist in our tracks,” Nefer said, and they watched the chariot pull in behind him as the Nubian started toward them over the rocky ground.
Taita said softly, “I know that devil well. His name is Bay and he is a shaman of the Usbak tribe.”
Nefer watched in trepidation as the chariot and its outrider came on steadily. The charioteer was standing high on the footplate. Surely he could look down on them from there. But he made no sign of having spotted them.
Closer still they came and Nefer recognized Hilto as the charioteer, even down to the white battle scar on his right cheek. For a moment it seemed he stared straight at Nefer with those hawk-sharp eyes, then his gaze slid away.
“Do not move.” Taita’s voice was soft as the light breeze over the bright plain.
Now Bay, the Nubian, was so close that Nefer could see every charm in the necklace that dangled on his broad bare chest. Bay stopped abruptly and his scarified features creased into a frown, as he turned his head, slowly questing all around, like a hunting dog with the scent of game in his nostrils.
“Still!” Taita whispered. “He senses us.”
Bay came on a few slow paces, then stopped again and held up his hand. The chariot pulled up behind him. The horses were restless and fidgeting. Hilto touched the dashboard with the shaft of the lance in his hand. The small rasping sound was magnified in the silence.
Now Bay was staring directly into Nefer’s face. Nefer tried to hold that dark implacable stare without blinking, but his eyes watered with the strain. Bay reached up and clasped one of the charms on his necklace. Nefer realized it was the floating bone from the chest of a man-eating lion. Taita had one in his armory of talismans and magical charms.
Bay began to chant softly in his deep melodious African bass. Then he stamped one bare foot on the hard earth, and spat in Nefer’s direction.