“It is good to see you restored to full health, Majesty,” he replied. “With your permission I must go at once to the House of the Dead and make sure that my mother is being correctly beautified.” Turning to Aahmes-nefertari, he took the hand she offered. “You are not yet wearing a commander’s armbands,” he said lightly, and she laughed and hugged him impulsively.
“Dear Ramose!” she exclaimed. “In spite of our common grief it is wonderful to see you smile.”
The two Princes had been standing silently behind Ramose and as Ahmose’s attention became fixed on them they knelt on the paving. Pressing their foreheads against the stone and sweeping the ever-present grit into a tiny pile before them, they sifted it over their heads in a gesture of repentance and submission. Ahmose watched them for a moment, one eyebrow raised. “They have redeemed themselves, Ahmose,” Ramose said in a low voice. “You spoke of the distress of divided loyalties. They have made their choice. They are here, not in Het-Uart. I beg you …” Ahmose held up a peremptory hand.
“Do you realize,” he said to their dusty skulls, “that the woman standing beside me has shown more courage and performed more deeds of desperate loyalty than either of you? That if you had managed to find one drop of such bravery in your pale and watery blood my brother would still be alive? If you had warned him, Kamose would still be alive!” he shouted, bending over them. “But no! You closed your mouths! You made no choice! You recoiled from the responsibility and slunk away like a couple of hyenas! Amun’s curse on you for the cowards that you are!” He straightened and for a moment his eyes wandered to the second boat, now moored, where the servants crowded watching the scene avidly. “Well, get up,” he ordered more calmly. “That is, if your feeble spines will hold you. Tell me what I am supposed to do with you.” Slowly they came to their feet and bowed.
“Majesty, you are correct in all you say.” It was Mesehti who answered him. “We listened to Meketra and the others and did not take our knowledge to the Osiris one. Yet we did make a choice. We chose to withdraw. We could not support our fellow nobles although we owed them the fidelity of our common station, but neither could we betray them. If we erred, it was not through cowardice but from uncertainty.”
“Uncertainty,” Ahmose repeated. He sighed. “Uncertainty dogged Kamose from the start and his greatest uncertainty was always the true temper of his Princes.” Suddenly he swung to his wife. “Aahmes-nefertari, you have the right to speak on this matter, you know. You were compelled to risk your life on the training ground. You stood and watched the executions. You have been harmed and changed. What do you advise?”
She looked at him, startled both by his generous public acknowledgement of her importance and his sensitivity to the turmoil that had raged and then subsided in her ka. All at once she knew that the substance of her answer would determine whether or not that importance was maintained. I must speak honestly and wisely, she thought in a panic. He has heard what I did but he was not there. He wants a validation he can see and hear for himself. Three pairs of eyes were fixed on her. Two were anxiously enquiring. The third was amused and Aahmes-nefertari, meeting her husband’s quizzical gaze, realized that his vehement speech to the prostrate men had been an act. But how much of an act? she wondered. What does he want? Further retribution? Two more executions? A reason to pardon them?
No, she told herself resolutely. I will not try to fathom what he expects of me. I will speak from my own judgement and mine alone. “The bestowal of mercy can be interpreted as a weakness,” she began carefully. “Yet mercy is greatly prized by Ma’at and together with justice is a quality every King must possess.” She turned fully to Ahmose. “Justice has been done to the fullest extent, Majesty,” she went on. “Our brother is dead. His murderers were executed. Mesehti and Makhu have pursued and slain the last remnants of a rebellion that belonged to an old order, Kamose’s order, and in doing so they have rediscovered the portion of Ma’at that they once threw away. A new order begins. Let your first act as a King be one of forbearance.” He was squinting at her now, his eyes alight.
“Forbearance, perhaps, but not pardon,” he retorted. “Not yet. Trust must be earned, Aahmes-nefertari, don’t you agree?” He swung to the Princes. “Where are your soldiers?”
“They march on the edge of the desert, Majesty,” Makhu said hastily. “They should arrive tomorrow.”
“Well, get yourselves out of the sun and into the guest quarters,” Ahmose ordered. “Thanks to your Queen you have one last chance to prove yourselves. Do not fail again. And do not go near the barracks or I shall suspect yet another plot!” He turned away from their bows, and taking Aahmes-nefertari’s arm he began to stroll towards the house. Ramose had already left in the direction of the House of the Dead.
“I do not understand, Ahmose,” his wife said hesitantly. “You shouted your anger at them but I sensed that it was forced. Did you intend to spare them all along and I simply told you what you had already decided?”
“No,” he replied. “My anger was real, is real, deep inside me, my dearest, but I wanted it to appear forced. If you had recommended their execution I would have taken your advice, but I am glad that you appreciate both the power and the trap of mercy. Let us hope it has not been a trap in this case.”
“I still do not understand.”
“Then I will tell you.” He took a moment to lift his face to the brilliant blue of the sky and his hair fell back, revealing the jagged scar behind his ear, still rough and red. “I loved Kamose,” he went on slowly. “He was brave and intelligent and he inspired an awed respect, but that respect was tinged with fear. In this he was foolish. His manner was harsh. His method of revenge was implacable. The ordeal we have suffered was the direct result of that inexorable drive towards the extermination of the Setiu. It frightened the people and insulted the Princes. I loved him,” he repeated, a tremor in his voice, “but the result of his terrible need was entirely predictable.”
“Ahmose,” Aahmes-nefertari broke in urgently. “Are you saying that you will abandon the fight? Give Egypt back to Apepa?”
“Gods no! Do not be deceived. My own hatred and desire for revenge against Apepa burns just as strongly as Kamose’s did. But I have a new policy. I will strew smiles like lotus petals. I will toss titles and preferments and rewards like so many brightly painted baubles. I will not make my brother’s mistakes, and thus I will flog every Setiu back to Rethennu where they belong.” They had reached the shade of the pillared portico before the main entrance to the house and Aahmes-nefertari shivered in the sudden chill.
“I think I see,” she said cautiously. “Kamose ruled the Princes by coercion. You will control them more subtly. But, Ahmose, if our brother had not flayed Egypt with the whip of his pain and rage, if he had not prodded and shamed the Princes into action and drenched Egypt in blood, your strategy would not work. He drew the poison for you. He cleared the way for a gentler approach.”
“And I owe him that? You were afraid to finish your thought, Aahmes-nefertari. You are right. I owe him a great deal. He was like a farmer who takes possession of a field which has been left untended for hentis. His task was to slash and burn the weeds. I know this. I honour it. But I owe him nothing more. He was mildly insane.” One ringed finger crept up to his scar and rubbed it absently. It was a gesture that was becoming a habit and Aahmes-nefertari was beginning to recognize it as a signal of speculative thought.
“But Amun loved him!” she blurted, alarmed. “He sent him dreams! Take care that in hardening your heart against his memory you do not blaspheme against the god, Ahmose!” For a moment the face he turned to her was blank. Then it lit with his guileless smile.
“He died in trying to save my life,” he said. “I slept beside him, fought beside him, and in our youth he was always there to protect me. My heart will never harden against him. I speak facts, Aahmes-nefertari, not feelings. The emotion is for you and me alone. But a new order begins, as you said, and there is great danger to me if I present
even a hint to the nobles that I am prepared to continue the brutal policies of my brother.” He leaned close to her. “I intend to render them impotent, every one of them, and make them thank me for doing it. I will never trust them again. I also intend to put a torch to Het-Uart, that stinking nest of rats, and thus Kamose will be twice justified. But I must never allow one drop of the acid of blind revenge to stir in my veins or we will not be allowed a second chance at salvation.” He straightened. “I trust you, Aahmes-nefertari. I have opened my mind on this matter to no one else. When I ask you for advice, I expect you to give it to me without fear, as you did a short while ago. I have requested a meeting with Hor-Aha this evening in the office. I want you and Mother there.” Aahmes-nefertari blinked in surprise.
“You want me to be present at a discussion about strategy?” He put a thumb against her chin, and lifting her face he kissed her firmly on the mouth.
“Of course,” he replied. “I need a Queen who can do more than sip pomegranate wine and listen to servants’ gossip.” He stifled a yawn. “Now I need an hour on my couch. My head has begun to ache.”
Aahmes-nefertari stifled an impulse to put a hand on his forehead. A shyness had overtaken her as she looked at this man, so sweetly familiar and yet so suddenly alien, and he must have divined her aborted inclination, for he put an arm across her shoulders and propelled her firmly towards the doorway. “Akhtoy can nurse me now,” he said. “That is his job. You will have other responsibilities.” Releasing her, he strode away down the corridor and she watched him go. He did not say Tetisheri, she thought. Was it an oversight or a deliberate exclusion? If he antagonizes Grandmother, the house will be full of wrangling. Then she laughed aloud, shrugged, and set off towards the nursery. I doubt if a quarrelsome house has a place in the new order, she mused. Our King will insist on domestic peace.
She approached the office just after dusk, greeting the servants who were lighting the torches bracketed in the passage as she went and returning the salutes of the guards taking up the first watches of the night. Outside the imposing cedar door she paused, momentarily intimidated. She had never before been invited into the place where her father and later Kamose had dealt with the myriad affairs that made up the world of men: dictating directives to the headmen of the villages under their care, going over the tallies of grain, wine and oil, discussing judgements regarding the often petty grievances the peasants brought to them, and later wrestling with the agonizing decisions that had resulted in the Weset uprising. She knew what the room contained, of course, having often inspected it for tidiness and cleanliness after the servants had swept it, but to enter it for the purpose of business—that was different. She could hear voices within, her husband’s rich treble followed by Hor-Aha’s rough, rare chuckle, and with a frown of irritation at her own hesitation she knocked and, without waiting to be bidden, let herself in.
Aahotep was already there, sitting quietly at one end of the heavy table. Hor-Aha had his back to the door and, as Aahmes-nefertari walked across the floor, he rose and turned to reverence her. Ahmose, seated opposite with Ipi already cross-legged by his knee, smiled at her and waved her to the empty chair at the other end. Light filled the sparsely furnished space from two standing lamps in the corners and one on the table at Ahmose’s side. Three walls were full of nooks from which the ends of rolled papyri protruded and below which were the chests containing records not in current use. The fourth wall was simply a line of pillars giving out onto the darkening sky.
For one second, as she settled herself facing her mother, Aahmes-nefertari could have sworn that she inhaled a faint whiff of her father’s perfume, a mixture of sweet persea and oil of frankincense. Wondering if it somehow lingered deep in the very grain of the table where he had so often placed his hands, and resisting the desire to put her nose to its surface, she linked her own fingers in her lap and waited. Ahmose cleared his throat. “Ipi, are you ready?” he enquired. The man glanced up at him and nodded and Aahmes-nefertari heard him whispering the scribes’ preparatory prayer to Thoth beneath Ahmose’s next words. “Good. As you can see, Akhtoy has provided us with wine and sweetmeats but you will have to serve yourselves. This discussion is not for servants’ ears.” He already had a cup before him and he drank briefly before continuing. “While I lay on my couch regaining my strength, I had many hours to ponder the course my rule should take,” he said. “And it seemed to me that the most urgent project confronting us is a reorganizing of the army. Without a coherent, efficient fighting force we are nothing. We cannot even defend ourselves, let alone mount effective campaigns. Kamose performed a very difficult task in taking raw peasants and turning them into soldiers. He began with one unit, the Medjay, and a motley collection of peasants. He had officers who had never drawn a sword and commanders who were reluctant to command. In short, what he did must have earned him the wonder and applause of the gods themselves.” He shot a glance at his wife. “But he was hampered by a peasant’s need to till his soil in the spring and a prince’s need to assert the superiority of his blood. The rebellion has taught us the danger of both. Peasants whose minds are full of worry about their arouras and Princes who chafe to return to the luxury of their estates are not to be trusted.”
He already uses that word a great deal, Aahmes-nefertari thought, hearing the mildly disdainful emphasis he had placed on it. It has become a preoccupation for him. I pray that it may not become an obsession. She turned her attention back to what he was saying. “Therefore I intend to implement a standing army. Give me your response.” Aahotep pulled the wine jug towards her and carefully filled her cup.
“Egypt has never maintained a standing army,” she said slowly. “The peasants have always been conscripted temporarily, either for war or for building purposes, by the King or the temples. They have always known that no matter how long their services may be required they will eventually be allowed to go home. If they are told that they may not go home, you will have one mutiny after another.”
“Surely that depends on how it is done,” Aahmesnefertari objected. “It might be possible to form a military core of permanent troops with their own village and then augment them with others during the Inundation. Or perhaps take a census of all males and cull those not necessary for working the land. They would have to be supported and armed out of the royal treasury. You would have to create new orders of scribes and stewards who would do nothing else. You would need the authority to tax all Egypt. But it would mean that each man was fully trained, professional, and it would remove the threat of another revolt.”
“Hor-Aha?” Ahmose looked at his General, who had been listening with his head down, one finger tracing an intricate and invisible pattern on the table before him. Now he pursed his lips and, folding his arms, he nodded.
“It could be done. I consider my Medjay first. I know them, Majesty. They would be willing to leave their villages to be cared for by their women and slaves, if they were allowed several weeks of freedom a year and sufficient beer and bread. As for the rest, you already have the embryo of such a core in your Weset contingent.” He stirred and Aahmes-nefertari saw him take a slow, quiet breath. “But what will you do for commanders?” he asked smoothly— too smoothly, Aahmes-nefertari thought. This is the question closest to his strange heart. This is where his true interest lies. “Will you promote the sons of those who have died?”
“Been executed for treason you mean!” Ahmose retorted. “No, I do not wish to train their offspring in the art of command. A professional army needs professional officers at its pinnacle. I want to promote from the ranks.” But that is not your real reason, Aahmes-nefertari told him silently. You have already expressed that to me. You will never trust a nobleman again.
“The ranks?” Aahotep expostulated. “But, Ahmose, what common soldier will have any respect for a commander who has no noble blood in him? There must be distance between them!”
“I am inclined to disagree, Mother,” Ahmose told her mildly. “Perhaps a lowly fighting
man will have more confidence in the directives of someone he has already seen in action. He may also dream of his own promotion if such an avenue becomes open.” He spread his hands. “In any event it is worth the gamble. Kamose attempted the traditional way. He did great harm to Apepa but came close to destroying us in the process. We lose nothing by changing the rules.”
“I would like to come back to the matter of support,” Aahmes-nefertari said. “The war has cost us and the rest of Egypt. We have had two harvests since Kamose removed the peasants from the land and the granaries are filling again, but our situation will not bear any extra burden. Not yet. Do we not invite a future disaster by scrambling to fill the mouths of thousands of troops who will fall idle once the war is over?” He favoured her with one of his wide, benign smiles of approval.
“A good point,” he responded. “Firstly I do not envisage the soldiers idle. With their training and skills they will be invaluable in policing the towns and villages, escorting caravans; we can even sell their time to the temples, all in rotation of course. And if an emergency arises, they can be recalled to Weset already armed and proficient.”
“Majesty, will you also allow them to be used as private soldiers?” Hor-Aha interrupted. There was a pause during which Ahmose appeared to be considering the question, but Aahmes-nefertari suspected that he was merely hiding his annoyance at it.
“When Egypt has been scoured and peace returns, there will be no necessity for private armies,” he answered with the exaggerated docility he used to hide disapproval, anger or boredom. Mother and daughter caught each other’s eye, but Hor-Aha seemed unaware that he had put Ahmose on his guard. “However, escorts will surely be permissible, although they will not be privately recruited nor staffed with officers who are not answerable to me. This is a detail, Hor-Aha.” He turned to his wife. “Secondly,” he went on, “I have no intention of raping Egypt in order to preserve her! Don’t forget the gold routes, Aahmes-nefertari. We have blocked the passage of gold to the Delta. Now we can take it for ourselves. Also I intend to send emissaries to Keftiu. They are an eminently practical people. They care nothing for our internal squabbles. Trade is what they like, and trade with Het-Uart has become sporadic since Kamose captured the treasure ships. I believe that they will be eager to draw up new agreements with Egypt, particularly after the next campaign, when I hope to clear the Delta of the Rethennu troops dribbling in.”
The Horus Road Page 2