“On land send in a force of men, not to penetrate their defenses, but to just divert some of their attention to that route, thereby spreading them thin. Here, I have made a drawing of my plan.” He rolled out a small parchment in front of Qa’a.
“Interesting, Nomti,” Qa’a said. “But you mentioned three fronts.”
“Yes. I think the water attack should be split into two, one on each side of the peninsula. Send the first flotilla past the town just as Ra rises, so that they will think we decided to bypass them out of fear of their might. As the second flotilla approaches, the first will double back. Mother Nile’s tributary runs slow so they should have little difficulty.
“Once the enemy begins to adjust to the two-sided attack, then the King’s Guards would attack directly in the front of the peninsula. That way the boats are dispersed and you won’t have blockages. And each boat must have two extra oarsmen in it to get the boats out after the soldiers are discharged.” The council members stared at the table before them. No one moved, nor dared look Qa’a in the eye.
“Brilliant, Nomti!” Qa’a shouted, standing up and looking at the council members. “What do you all say?” Each man voiced his approval.
“Then I leave it up to you captains to arrange the details of who is in each flotilla. Give the men a rest tomorrow and we mount the assault the day after. Nomti, have your division ready to enter the battle if more men are needed. I will assign you one of my best warriors to advise you. And Merkha, you will stay here and continue to help General Nebibi. Send one of your scribes in your place to bear witness.”
That night and throughout the next day, as the soldiers replenished their weapons and prepared their swords, maces and spears for battle, Nebibi steadily worsened. His wound drained continuously and he tossed and turned in severe pain. I helped the physician priests to keep him cool with Mother Nile’s waters and we forced him to drink as much as he would allow us.
On the morning that the army was to leave, just as Ra rose in the sky, Qa’a showed up in Nebibi’s tent. He embraced the older man and bid him a quick recovery from his wound. Nebibi smiled faintly and squeezed the hand that Qa’a offered him.
It took most of the morning for the army to disembark, first the feinting assault group, and then the land unit. In the rear, Qa’a’s Guards were massed in their boats, ready to come ashore once the fighting was heavily engaged. They spoke in soft voices and periodically a soldier would check his sword or adjust the placement of his mace or knife.
With the army gone, I grabbed a small piece of cheese and bread to sustain me and went directly to Nebibi’s tent. The priest physician greeted me and took me aside. “He wanders into the next world for a bit and then returns. I am afraid we can do no more for him. It is now up to him to choose which path he will walk.”
“He is strong, he will survive.” I walked to Nebibi’s bedside and knelt next to him. I patted his head with a wet cloth and as I returned it to the basin, he whispered to me in a shaky voice.
“Merkha, is there anyone else nearby?”
“Yes, the physicians are here to help you.”
“Command them to go, for I must speak with you.” I ordered the priests out.
“We must talk, for I have long known what is afoot in the palace, my dear friend.” I stayed silent, for I had a feeling that my heart was suddenly laid bare before the General’s piercing gaze.
“He is not fit to be King. This I know. It is a terrible burden that you and the others bear in choosing the path you are on.”
“But, my friend…”
“No, do not say anything, for I have my own sources and my own eyes and ears. Let me speak. There is little time.” I swallowed and rose to sit by his side. I held his hand in mine for I knew that he was beyond pain, that he teetered between worlds.
“I do not know what is right and what is wrong and that is why I have not opposed your plans. I am a lowly soldier and I have always followed orders. But as for me, I cannot be part of this… this… this change to my beloved Kem. He steers us onto the rocks of chaos, yet who is to know whether the gods have planned this for some reason? You have chosen to act to prevent the ship from sinking. I admire such courage, but I deplore treasonous acts. So my gift to you and the others is this. I choose to walk to the Afterworld, to await Anubis’ judgment, for my heart is heavy, indeed, from the life of a warrior.”
“You need not take that path, dear Nebibi. You could…”
“Goodbye, Merkha. I leave you with my prayers for the Two Lands.” With that Nebibi shut his eyes. While his troops battled the Ta-Tjehenus later that day, he quietly slipped away and began his journey to the Afterlife.
As I later learned, the battle went much as Nomti had predicted. Our attack spread the defenders thin and soon our soldiers were able to set ladders and scale the mud ramparts. When Qa’a and the King’s Guards made their frontal assault it seemed assured that victory would be theirs. They rushed ashore, with Qa’a in the lead. When they crested the rampart, what they witnessed was a deserted village. Qa’a knew immediately that they had been tricked. At that moment, his unit heard shouts coming from a division of our soldiers on their right. From the woody shrubs at the edges of the marsh, Ta-Tjehenu warriors dressed in black began appearing in unending lines.
As soon as they appeared, Buikkhu, watching from a boat with other priest physicians, realized that more soldiers would be needed. He sent a priest to Qa’a to ask if he should send a messenger back for our reserve units. Qa’a agreed and Buikkhu quickly instructed his most trusted young priest with a message and sent him back to the camp.
I was in Qa’a’s tent talking with Urshte when the messenger priest appeared, muddy from the marshes and out of breath from his exertions.
“I have come with a message for Nomti,” he said, leaning over to catch his breath.
“I am Urshte, Nomti’s shaman. You may leave the message safely with me.” The boy stared up and down at Urshte’s high priestly garb. He lowered his head, embarrassed.
“I do not mean to offend you, my brother and superior, but I have been instructed by Buikkhu, Master of us both, to allow only Nomti’s ears to hear the message.”
“Very well,” Urshte calmly said. “Then follow me and I will take you directly to him.”
A few hours later the boy was found dead, his throat slashed by an intricately adorned Ta-Tjehenu knife that was found nearby.
SCROLL THIRTY-ONE
Like Goats to Slaughter
Urshte
Who knows how the gods control our very lives? Do they plan out every detail, or do they place before us obstacles and opportunities and allow us to choose our own fate? I am a Horus priest, and an Apep adept, and I freely admit that I know not the answer.
Qa’a’s boats arrived back at the encampment after Ra had already disappeared from the heavens. But instead of Qa’a’s voice yelling out orders, he was carried from his boat on a stretcher of reeds by six of his Guards and followed closely by Buikkhu, whose right arm was bound in a blood-stained sling. It was a somber moment as they disembarked and, as word spread, hundreds of soldiers milled about his tent. The Apep priesthood had planned the counterattack well.
Khenemet hobbled to the tent as quickly as he could, leaning on his staff, stooped, his age showing. He first took Buikkhu aside and whispered something to him, then directed the physician priests to assess Qa’a’s wounds.
“How did this happen?” he asked the captain of the King’s Guards.
“I cannot say,” the man responded, avoiding Khenemet’s eyes.
“I am the Chief Priest of Horus, captain! You will tell me all that happened. Now!” The soldier winced.
“He… the King was reckless, Chief Priest. We were at his side to protect him, but he kept lunging forward into the battle as if possessed.”
“And?”
“He was first struck on the side of his head by a thrown mace. As he stumbled he lowered his shield and a spear caught him. He was felled. We quickly r
etreated and took him with us.”
“This is a mighty blow to all of Kem, captain. The brother of Horus has been mortally wounded. Someone will pay for this grievous error.”
“I will gladly give my life if your magic will help save the King,” the man said, his voice quivering. “I have sworn him my allegiance.”
“Pray then, soldier, that it comes not to that.” Khenemet dismissed the captain and turned to his priests.
I watched as Khenemet went to Qa’a’s side and knelt with difficulty. Qa’a was in great pain and even the slightest movement made him wince. He bled profusely from a wound in his side and his bandages were soaked through with a foamy red mess. He breathed with great difficulty. His eye was nearly swollen shut from the blow to his head and a large bump made his head appear distorted. His page brought him cool beer. Khenemet dipped a cloth into cool juniper juice and patted the King’s head. He opened his eyes and looked into Khenemet’s.
“It is over,” he struggled to say. “Finally.”
“No, it is not over, Qa’a. You must yet battle to overcome these wounds. You must.”
“My battles are over, priest. I tried to avenge Banafrit’s death. Now I go to join her. Banafrit and Akhom, both.” He gave the faintest hint of a smile.
Buikkhu went to Khenemet’s side and with his good hand helped lift him to standing. Khenemet motioned for the eldest and most experienced physician to come to his side.
“It is not good,” the priest whispered to Khenemet. “The spear punctured his lung.”
“Do everything to ease his pain. He must live to crush this rebellion and save Kem.” The priest nodded solemnly and went to his herb chest.
By now Nomti and Merkha had entered the tent and stood talking to the Captain of the King’s Guard. In a moment, Khenemet, with Buikkhu behind, came to them.
“Buikkhu tells me that the King summoned you to his side during the battle,” Khenemet began acidly. “Yet you did not obey his orders.”
“I beg to differ with you, Chief Priest. I received no such orders.”
“He lies!” Buikkhu spat in utter contempt. “I sent the messenger myself, one of my most trusted initiates. He had orders to deliver the message only to Nomti himself.”
“Wait!” I said, turning to Buikkhu. “When was the messenger sent?”
“Early this morning, as the battle heated up. I knew not to depend on that coward!” he said, pointing to Nomti. “But the King insisted.”
“Just before the King arrived,” Merkha said, “the body of a priest initiate was found in the marshes. His throat had been slit.” Buikkhu seemed stunned by the news.
“There, you see? He covered his cowardice with this…”
“Do not dare to accuse me of such a heinous act, Buikkhu! I wear the gold armband and, priest or not, I will bring charges against you for disrespecting my position.” All people in the tent turned to Nomti. Buikkhu stood, shocked at Nomti’s bravado. He stared at Nomti, hatred in his eyes.
“What more can you tell us?” Khenemet interjected.
“A Ta-Tjehenu knife was found nearby. A search found the spy trying to escape through the marshes.”
“So, we can question him and determine who put him up to this,” Khenemet said, tapping his staff on the ground for emphasis.
“The spy was killed as he attacked our soldiers,” Merkha added. Khenemet bowed his head, leaning on his staff, as if absorbing what he had just heard. Buikkhu smirked.
“Very unfortunate,” Khenemet said, holding out his hand to stop Buikkhu from saying anything further. He took a deep breath. “But we cannot control what the gods put before us, can we?” He lifted his head and turned toward Nomti.
“I apologize for my hot-headed assistant here,” he said, tilting his staff toward Buikkhu. “This is a catastrophe for our people, but especially for those of us who dutifully serve our King for the good of Kem.” His words had an edge to them. Then Khenemet bowed and he and Buikkhu went back to Qa’a’s bedside.
As soon as we went back to Nomti’s tent, he grabbed my arm. “What do you know of this?” he asked menacingly.
“Nothing. It is as Merkha described.” Nomti searched my eyes, but I held my gaze firm. He wisely did not press the issue any further.
Later that night, as the priests encircled Qa’a’s bed to pray and minister to him, I was awakened in my tent by a man who put his hand over my mouth. He quietly led me away from the camp.
“Itafe sent me,” he began, pulling back his robe to show me his tattoo. I nodded.
“Here is the message. Now is the time for all three to begin their journeys. Tonight.” Feeling the crush of those words, I forced myself to breathe. I stood quietly.
“There is more and here it is.” The messenger closed his eyes, trying to recall the exact wording, for Apep priests are trained in the art of words and by the silent spaces between them that reveal far more.
“The two who might have ascended will instead also journey tonight.” My thoughts immediately raced to Nafre and Mume, two innocents who the gods had placed into this play for no seeming purpose. My heart felt heavy.
“There is one final message. Have the one who will be King lead the army back to the village. He will be victorious.” I tilted my head quizzically, but I knew not to question this messenger. Itafe’s commands were simple so that they could be followed simply.
The two of us now locked eyes knowingly. “May I have your blessing?” he asked. I nodded and placed my hands on his head. “You have done well, my son. Apep’s rewards await. May your path be an easy one.” I stepped back. He gave me one last look as he withdrew his curved dagger from his belt. He knelt before me and plunged it deep into his abdomen, turning his hand as he did so. In an instant he keeled over.
From the shadows, four men emerged, as I knew they would. We spoke not a word as they each took a limb and dragged the body off with them. An honored burial awaited him, perhaps officiated by Itafe himself.
On the walk back to camp the four men followed me, several cubits behind. They were dressed in the robes of physician priests of Horus. I discreetly pointed to Qa’a’s tent and then to Khenemet’s and Buikkhu’s. While I walked back to mine, they slipped away.
I made no pretense of going back to sleep, for in the depths of the night, I knew what fate awaited the three mightiest men in Kem, as well as their four assassins. By morning their work would be over, and our work would just begin. Yet the enormity of what I had had a hand in making come to pass weighed heavily on me. What was a distant dream only a few years ago, a dream that had lasted for generations, would now happen and only the gods knew whether that would be for good or for evil. I prayed to Apep. I prayed to Horus. I prayed for Kem.
With Ra’s rising the camp was awakened by the sounds of soldiers yelling. Captains shouted commands and in an instant my tent flap was yanked aside and a soldier poked his head in and screamed.
“Come quick! The King is dead! Hurry!” I could see the panic in the young man’s eyes. I arose from my chair and followed him into the light of Ra’s rising. I saw Merkha coming from his tent. We looked at each other and I saw Merkha bend over slightly to take a deep breath. Together we walked to Qa’a’s tent.
Captains had assembled their men into groups and commanded them to certain chores. The groups took off in all directions, looking for the assassins. I knew their search would be in vain, for the four men had begun their final journeys hours before.
As soon as I entered the tent I grasped the enormity of what had happened. Qa’a lay neatly in his bed, a large stain of blood surrounding his now pale, lifeless face, a huge gash running along his neck. Buikkhu lay crumpled on the ground. Two physician priests also lay dead. A King’s Guard reported that Khenemet lay dead in his tent, his staff broken in two beside him.
Qa'a (The First Dynasty Book 3) Page 40