by Andre Norton
With his hand tight about the hilt of his dagger, he approached the gate. It was still early evening, so early that the men who had leave within the city were only now straggling back to the barracks. The captain attached himself to the tail of one such group, a good pace or two behind so that none of the men might be too inquisitive.
Those returning exchanged rude chaff with the sentries, which was abruptly silenced when the officer of the guard appeared. Rahotep cursed his ill luck under his breath. But the officer did not glance at the cloaked figure standing a little to one side--rather he employed his powers of caustic comment on the now sheepish leave men whom he lined up and marched smartly away.
With a vast sigh of relief Rahotep threw back his hood, allowing his warrior’s headdress with its improvised insignia to show. It all depended now on whether the sentries could recognize him. But his service with the royal forces had been of such limited duration that he hoped he had more than an even chance of bringing it off.
A spear swung down as a barrier before him.
“Re rises in glory.” Rahotep pinned his future to the password that Mahu, scouting the barracks wall, had whispered to him only moments earlier.
The spear snapped up and the sentry saluted. Rahotep was free to enter the barracks court, which to his mind was far too well lighted, with its torches set in regularly spaced brackets along the walls. Luckily he had been several times to visit Methen in the veteran’s quarters and needed no guide. The last obstacle, that the commander might not be in his room, remained.
By great effort the captain kept his pace to a leisurely one, though every nerve in his body hammered. He crossed the court and mounted the narrow stairs leading to the smaller apartments where the senior officers had their private rooms. Then he was at the right doorway, a little weak with relief to see that its mat curtain was down. Methen was there.
He stood listening for any murmur of voice that would betray a visitor. And so intent was he on that that he was doubly startled when the curtain bulged near floor level and a flat black shape squirmed frantically under it to fall upon his sandals and claw a welcome at shin height.
“Bis!” The captain went down on his knees, and the leopard cub butted him with his round head on which the ears were now standing pricked. Bis rose on his hind legs to paw at Rahotep’s cloak until the captain gathered the cub up and hugged him close. Somehow that wild welcome eased an inner hurt as the oil and tending hands of Kheti has eased his outer ones.
Then the mat slapped up on its roller, and Rahotep, still on his knees, looked up to Methen’s wondering face. He saw the older officer’s eyes widen as a hand came forward to grasp the folds of his cloak and pull the captain in. It was not until, the curtain was safely down again that Methen turned and spoke.
“Where have you come from, boy? What happened that night in the palace?”
The captain sat down on the nearest stool, Bis draped across his lap purring. He told his story, as far as he knew it, starkly as he would report it to a commanding officer.
When he was done, Methen nodded. “You and your men were used to further another’s plan,” he observed crisply. “We guessed as much but we had no proof. Truly you have been favored by Re. But what are you doing here? The sooner you are away from Thebes, the stronger your hopes of life will be--”
“I have a message,” the younger man cut in. Quickly he described the meeting he had spied upon in the temple. “Warn Pharaoh--or else they will succeed this time where they have failed before--”
Methen crossed the small chamber in a couple of strides. As he looked out through the latticed window, he brought his fist down against the wall.
“It is not so easy. I am under a cloud because I have come from Nubia--which is now frankly a rebel state. I would not be allowed near any of the Royal Ones. And”--he turned again, his face bleak--”how do we know who or how many of those in the army are true to Pharaoh?”
“Nereb?” hazarded Rahotep. This aspect of his task had not occurred to him before, and inwardly he berated himself for not having foreseen it.
“He is with Pharaoh. But perhaps through Sa-Nekluft something may be done. Those I would trust with my life are all out of Thebes tonight.”
“By purpose?”
“It might well be so. Be sure, Rahotep, I will do all that it is possible for a man to do to warn our lord. But it is in my mind that they may have hedged him about with their own men so that no whisper can reach his ears.”
“Then there is left only one other thing. Where lies this Valley of the Lizard?”
“What is in your mind?”
“I still command ten archers--eleven with Kheti--who are the best of all the army. We have most of the night and all the day before us in which to act. Maybe when Pharaoh is attacked, he will find his guard has doubled!”
But Methen was shaking his head. “I do not think anyone on foot could reach there in time. Our lord is already out of Thebes--to appear at the Temple of the Waters. He will not return to the city but will cut directly across country to join the army. And he goes by chariot as does his guard. You cannot use the road the army is traveling, for you would be quickly discovered. To circle through the wild lands will add to the distance you must travel. It cannot be done.”
“Nevertheless,” returned Rahotep, “we shall attempt it. And if you cannot reach Pharaoh, try to get the ear of the Prince Ahmose. Now show me where lies this Valley of the Lizard and how one may reach it from Thebes.”
With a pattern of lines traced in wine on a scrap of linen tucked within his belt, Rahotep left the barracks. Methen had insisted upon accompanying him back through the gates, and one other stalked behind them, although they discovered him too late.
Bis was determined not to be parted from Rahotep now that he had found him again. And when Methen would have picked the cub up to carry him back, the leopard gave such a display of royal anger that for fear of a scuffle they were forced to let him pad along in the captain’s wake.
By dawn the Scouts were well into the fringes of the desert lands, and Rahotep drove himself as hard as he did them. If it were humanly possible, under Amon-Re’s will, that they reach the Valley of the Lizard, then it would be no fault of theirs if they did not. What they could accomplish there, the captain had only the vaguest ideas as yet. Could they discover and pick off those who lay in ambush before the arrival of the royal party, they would indeed be favored by fortune. But at least they could add to Pharaoh’s defenders and so retrieve in part their past disgrace and failure.
In spite of their best efforts, Re’s path across the sky was too swift. Knowing that he dared not reach the valley with his men in a state too exhausted to pull a bow cord, himself dizzy with sun and weakness, the captain was forced to grant periodic rests, laying himself flat upon the ground, striving to relax each taut muscle of mind and body, while Bis curled against his side as if, should he stray, he would lose all touch with Rahotep again. Today the cub had suffered Kheti to carry him when he tired, though at ordinary times he did not like the Nubian to handle him.
“Let that one shed his milk teeth,” Kheti observed, “and grow to full strength, and you will have a battle-mate second to none! He will follow you to the horizon, for he has set you in place as his lord--and among the cat people that is rare.”
Rahotep assented absently. His mind raced ahead, trying to foresee and plan against this difficulty and that. He had utter confidence in his own men. Let them only reach the battlefield in time, and he did not believe that any company in ambush could stand against them. It was only a matter of hours--
Long since they had learned, by bitter experience, the best method of travel through waterless wastes. Though they had left Thebes with a full waterskin for each man, that supply was strictly limited. And they had not been able to lie up in the hottest portions of the day.
Therefore they faced as best they could the force of the sun, as they marched through rocky defiles between the cliffs--cliffs streaked and crac
ked--detouring around slides of gravel, clay, and boulders. Cliffs and rocks alike threw off a quivering haze of pure heat, which burned a hand laid unwarily on a surface to steady climbing feet. Their only relief was to follow the scanty line of shade up one of the cliff walls where they could find footing.
Time and time again Rahotep made a stiffer climb to a height from which he could view the countryside and then refer to the rough map Methen had drawn for him. And he was too tired and beaten to exult when he at last identified a landmark and understood that they were not too distant from their goal.
Because of the coming floods, the large encampment of the royal forces had been moved from the level fields back into the high lands where the waters did not reach. It was the Pharaoh’s plan to march north during the first weeks of the flooding, when the chariot legions of the Hyksos would be prevented from assembling on the plain, which they needed for their most effective charges.
Neferusi, the garrison town held by the invaders, was the agreed-upon objective of the first Egyptian drive. It had been amply fortified after the regulation Hyksos fashion, and for over a century it had been a center for the oppressors’ government in middle Egypt.
Thereabouts, all native opposition to the foreign rulers had been crushed generations earlier, and very few men would rally to any invading Egyptian force from the south. The Hyksos would undoubtedly sweep the land bare of supplies and anything that would aid the rebels, and the spearhead attack from Thebes, if it failed, could well be the last--as well as the first--stroke in Sekenenre’s war for the liberation of his country.
But all that the best military minds in royal service could foresee had been prepared, and the army awaited now only the order to march. If Pharaoh reached his camp unharmed tonight, they would move forward. If he died--as his opponents were determined--the whole delicate structure of the revolt might topple, as clay walls toppled before the push of the flooding river, reducing both his house and his nation once more to a sullen vassalage, with all the patient work to be done again.
The Royal Heir could be prevented from early moves to hold things together by the bonds of mourning custom--which advisers such as Zau and Tothotep would certainly hold him to, making him a prisoner of his kingship until it was far too late to proceed with the invasion of the enemy-held territory this season. And if Kamose proved no tool for their use, he in turn would be swept away. It was all so very easy to do once Sekenenre was removed to his horizon! Rahotep could foresee all this as clearly as if he were a temple seer watching coming events in the bowl of Anubis.
“Lord!” Hori had reached the cliff top before him this time. “There are chariots coming!”
The captain did not disdain catching the hand the other lowered to him, using the archer’s aid to gain a better vantage point. Hori was right--a column of dust rolled yellow-white from swiftly turning wheels and churning hoofs, a small squadron of chariots. No, even fewer than that, for Rahotep could count only five in that line. They had been forced into single file by the nature of the country, and the one at the head was distinguished by the two horses, as well as by the standard, of Pharaoh.
Between the Scouts and that advancing line was a stretch of broken country, which turned Rahotep sick with the knowledge that only the wings of Horus Himself could transport them across it in time. But they had to try.
At the risk of bad falls the Scouts advanced at a scrambling run. But they were yet far from the lip of the valley’s rim when they heard confused shouting, which could only mark the launching of an ambush. A band of hot pain griped Rahotep’s lower ribs as he struggled on, falling behind his men in spite of his best efforts. He saw Kheti reach the rim of the cliff, set arrow to bow cord almost before he halted, and let fly down into the gulf.
Then the captain made a supreme effort and came to a sliding stop beside his Leader of Ten.
Below them was a melee of horses and men. Those who lay in ambush had been too eager, or else their prey had become suspicious, for the royal party was not far into the valley. Lucky shots, however, had brought down both horses of Pharaoh’s chariot. And to avoid trampling into that stalled vehicle, the following one had turned to one side, locking wheels with the wreck and effectively bottling the whole passage. But the worst was that some inexpert management on the part of at least one driver at the other end of the line had ended in a second smashup, so that the ambushed were now caught between two stoppers and imprisoned--to be picked off at leisure.
From the heights Rahotep and his men could see those who had set the trap, at least those in concealment on their side of the valley. There were archers among them as the shafts pin-cushioning the dead horses below testified. But slingers, expert with their deadly balls, were at work now, and Rahotep saw three of the penned guard go down under the skull-breaking shots of good marksmen.
Sekenenre, his blue war helmet-crown protecting him from that rain of death, had leaped to the platform of one of the stalled chariots and from that point was directing the resistance. But how could men fight back against well-concealed enemies stationed above? Shields were up now at the command--forming a roof of sorts. But too many had fallen at the first attack.
One of the long Nubian war arrows sang through the air, and a slinger arose to his tiptoes, as might a man diving into a pool, before his body went limp across a rock.
“Pick your marks!” Automatically Rahotep gave battle orders. “Loose at will!”
There was an angry shout from across the valley. A slingshot bullet struck a foot below their perch as the enemy posted opposite sighted the Scouts. But now the odds were swinging in favor of the Nubians.
“Five!” chanted Kheti. “Five notches for our shafts, Lord.”
They might be able to fire on those who lurked on their side of the valley. But the ones in hiding on the other cliff were almost as well protected from them as they were from the tormented men trapped below. And though five and then six bodies marked the success of the archers’ aim, those in the ambush were still in peril, for the others continued to fight grimly to wipe out the royal party.
Only four or five of the guards and officers who had accompanied the Pharaoh were still on their feet about the chariot where Sekenenre stood. Their useless bows had been discarded; they held axes and maces and the shields, which afforded them a small measure of protection.
The call of one of those war horns Rahotep had heard among the Hyksos at the horse camp blared in their ears. Kheti shot, and a figure perched on the heights crumpled in mid-note. But whatever his signal, it brought to a desperate action the struggle below.
Men arose from behind rocks, from the shelter of stunted brush, and dashed downslope toward the beleaguered party. The Nubian bowmen did what they could, but even a supreme marksman could not have brought all those runners to earth before they reached their goal.
They leaped in upon the small group of Egyptians while Rahotep and half his force went into their own attack, covered by the other Scouts. The slope on this side was less steep, and they reached the choked road only a moment or two behind the enemy.
A bearded man in the body armor of a Hyksos thrust at Rahotep with a spear, and the captain lithely swerved, getting in under the other’s guard by stooping almost to ground level and coming up breast to breast. His dagger bit home low and deep, and the other, with a strange look of bewilderment, staggered back and was gone.
“Aaaahhh--” The fierce, throat-rasping battle cry of the Nubians rose above the general clamor, and Rahotep caught a glimpse of Mereruka swinging a slinger up over his head to dash him earthwards with crushing force.
The rage of battle was on them all, and the captain did not really think clearly again until some chance brought him up hard against the wheel of an overturned chariot so that he clung there for support and looked about him dazedly.
The small shield wall of the surviving guardsmen was still up, but he could not see the blue helmet of their leader. Mahu sat against a rock while Kakaw wrapped a strip torn from a kilt
about a bleeding cut on his forearm. There were dead men aplenty. And Kheti was superintending the binding of some half-conscious prisoners.
Rahotep stood away from his wheel and moved toward the shields of the guards. Before he reached that improvised fortress, he heard the terrible keening of the warriors. And he knew with a sick certainty that they had failed. Pharaoh had departed to his horizon.
It was hard to recognize the Lord Nereb in the battered figure with a face that was a mask of blood and dust. The young officer sat on the ground supporting Sekenenre in his arms. At Rahotep’s feet lay the blue crown. And he needed only a glance at the horrible wounds on the Pharaoh’s jaw and head to know that there was no hope at all. No one could have survived such blows.
“Sorrow! Sorrow! Our lord has departed!” A spearman of the royal escort scooped up the bloodstained earth beneath his feet and rubbed it across his face. But Nereb looked across the broken body he cradled to Rahotep. There was no surprise in the measuring stare with which he greeted the captain. It might almost have been that he expected to find the outlawed Nubians there. And for one bleak moment Rahotep wondered if this treachery was also to be laid to them.
“You arrived opportunely, Captain,” he said. “We might have had much to thank you for--”
Rahotep brushed his hands across his eyes, trying to wipe away the fog that seemed to come between him and the meaning of the other’s words. He strove vainly to climb out of some well of fatigue. This crushing failure, added to all his other misfortunes of the past few days, was too great to bear.
“We strove to prevent this, Lord. It seems we came too late.”
“What man could foresee such blackness of treason? We had won the battle cleanly before we lost our lord. It was treason and not lack of valor which--which brought this about.”
“How knew you that?” the captain asked, for those in the ambush were Hyksos by dress and arms and he had had no chance to tell his tale.