He signalled. Aahmes-nefertari noticed anxiously that Aahotep was trying to hide a limp as they went to him and she heaved a secret sigh of relief when they were all seated. But blood was seeping slowly from beneath Aahotep’s broken toenail and Aahmes-nefertari experienced a surge of the superstitious horror that used to often overtake her. It is a bad omen for the start of Ahmose’s reign, she thought. No one must see it. What shall I do? She had been waved to one of the two chairs and knew she could neither rise nor bend down without drawing attention to herself.
But the same young priest who had come to Aahotep’s rescue before had been watching. Boldly he approached, fell gracefully before her, and while seeming to kiss her feet in an impulse of respectful submission managed to use the hem of his garment to wipe away the drops. Aahotep stared before her grimly, giving no sign, and while he was walking away Aahmes-nefertari saw her pull her feet in under the protection of her own voluminous garb.
Ahmose now sat. The first box was opened and Amunmose withdrew a pair of magnificent sandals that, like Ankhmahor’s dagger, were not meant for any but ceremonial purposes. Covered in gold leaf and encrusted with lapis and jasper, they were slipped reverently onto Ahmose’s feet while a prostrate Amunmose intoned the correct litany and the priests formed the responses. Aahmes-nefertari had time to notice that a startling likeness to Apepa had been painted on their soles before the High Priest stood, waved a censer over Ahmose, and lifted the lid of the second box.
He drew out a pectoral, and with a shock Aahmesnefertari recognized the ornament Kamose had commissioned for himself. There, hanging regally from Amunmose’s fingers, was Heh, god of eternity, kneeling on the heb sign with the notched palm ribs in his hands signifying myriad years, but the cartouche above him had been altered. It no longer encircled Kamose’s name. Nekhbet and Wadjet embraced Ahmose’s name instead. A lump came into Aahmes-nefertari’s throat as the beautiful reminder of all Kamose’s hopes was lowered over her husband’s head. He does not mean it as a triumph over Kamose, she said to herself sadly. For him it is a link with his brother, a promise that all Kamose began will be brought to fruition. But for me it is only heartache.
The last box contained a nemes headdress exquisitely fashioned in stripes of dark blue and gold, its rim a band of plain gold above which the simple facsimile of the uraeus, the vulture Lady of Dread, protectress of the south, and the cobra Lady of Flame, protectress of the north, reared gleaming. With solemn words Amunmose removed the square of linen from Ahmose’s head and replaced it with the nemes, settling the lappets to either side of his neck. It was the last time that the King’s sacred head would be seen naked in public.
Then Ahmose stood and raised his arms. A tide of applause began and swelled to a roar of approval and homage and with one accord the company went to the ground, foreheads against the stone floor. On rising they continued the tumult until at Ahmose’s nod the herald Khabekhnet stepped forward. “Hear the desires of the King!” he called, and rapidly the furore died away. “Firstly His Majesty wishes it to be known that of the five titles which are his prerogative he will take up only the three pertaining to his godhead until Egypt is cleansed. At that time, when he sits upon the Holy Throne with Steps under the weight of the Double Crown, he will be pleased to receive the title of nesw-bit, He of the Sedge and the Bee, and the appellation He of the Two Ladies. Thus, for the time being, he is Uatch-Kheperu Ahmose, Son of the Sun, Horus, the Horus of Gold. The King has spoken.” He paused. “Secondly His Majesty wishes now to place a Queen’s crown upon the head of his beloved Aahmesnefertari, the Beautiful Daughter of the Moon, so that Egypt may do homage to her as God’s Wife and worship her as first among the glories of our land. The King has spoken.”
He retired and Ahmose rose. From beside his chair he took up a fourth box Aahmes-nefertari had not noticed before and opening it he brought out a diadem of gold, a solid cap in the likeness of the goddess Mut whose wings were draped to either side of the head of the wearer and whose claws each gripped a shen-sign, signifying infinity, eternity and protection. Mut’s vulture head reared back, her curved beak sharp, her eyes with their black onyx pupils glittering dangerously. With great care, with the tenderness of love and pride, Ahmose lowered it onto Aahmesnefertari’s wig. “The booty from the treasure ships must be lamentably depleted by now, Majesty,” she murmured as his face came close to hers and he grinned slowly.
“Wickedly so,” he muttered in return. “But there will be much more before I am done. I adore you, my irresistible warrior.” Once again the inner court resounded to loud cheers.
Ahmose did not resume his seat as Aahmes-nefertari thought he would. Instead he let the noise continue for a while. Then his ringed hand came up. “I now have a solemn and vital duty to perform,” he said, his voice ringing out over the expectant crowd. “Aahotep, my mother, come and stand before me.” Aahotep left her stool and did as she was bidden. Aahmes-nefertari saw puzzlement in her eyes as she and her son faced one another. She was at least half a head shorter than Ahmose so that when he next spoke, all could see his hennaed mouth over the top of her plain, flat wig. “There are three awards bestowed by a King upon deserving subjects,” he said. “One, the Gold of Favours, is given to any citizen for outstanding loyalty to his King, for devotion to his work for his King, or for excellence in his administrative capacity. The other two, the Gold of Valour and the Gold of Flies, are only conferred on soldiers, whether common or commanding, who have shown exemplary courage in battle. No woman has ever received the Gold of Valour or the Gold of Flies. Of those two, the Gold of Flies is the most rare. In the whole history of Egypt it has only been awarded four times. Today will mark its fifth.” He thrust out a hand and Amunmose laid across it a thin loop of gold from which hung three golden flies. Aahmesnefertari, watching them swing in her husband’s grasp, marvelled at the skill of the jewellers who had given them such a semblance of animation. Their wings were solid, their eyes bulbous. But it was in the crafting of the bodies that the anonymous man had shown his genius. He had grooved them to simulate the stripes of a living fly so that when the wearer moved and breathed they would appear iridescent in the sunlight. “I have caused a stela to be erected here within the sacred precincts,” Ahmose went on. “I will tell you all what it says. ‘Aahotep is one who has accomplished the rites and cared for Egypt. She has looked after Egypt’s troops and she has guarded them. She has brought back the fugitives and collected together the deserters. She has pacified Upper Egypt and expelled the rebels.’ This I dictated to the one who carved the words. Nothing more needs to be said in stone, but you all know that not only did she save my life but she also took part in quelling the uprising among the soldiery. No man is more worthy than this woman to have such an exalted award hung about her neck to rest against the bloody emblem of her bravery. Aahotep, hold up your head. I award you the Gold of Flies and I give you a new title, nebet-ta, Mistress of the Land.”
The necklet fastened with a simple golden hook. Ahmose undid it, reached around his mother and coupled it, giving it a pat before stepping back. Aahotep turned. She seemed dazed. The host erupted into a wild cacophony of yells, calling her name, whistling and shouting, and tears began to slip down her cheeks. Amunmose went to her, and taking her arm he led her back to her stool. Sinking onto it, she looked across at Ahmose, her fingers caressing the exquisite insects. She smiled at him through her tears.
“I am glad that my surprise meets with your approval,” he said. “Now we will continue. Ahmose-onkh, come up here.” Letting go his nurse’s hand, the boy trotted eagerly forward and scrambled up onto his father’s knees.
What a curious mixture of formality and spontaneity this ritual is, Aahmes-nefertari thought, as she watched her son wriggle to find a comfortable spot on Ahmose’s muscled thighs. But it perfectly expresses Ahmose’s character. Kamose would never have done this. For him every chant, every step, every sonorous pronouncement would have been executed according to rigid custom so that the past could flow seamle
ssly into the present without any taint of potentially perilous innovation. Kamose wanted to restore us to the past, but I am beginning to realize that my husband intends to not only restore but reanimate the structure of Egypt. He has been able to combine tradition with an instinctive talent for the impulse and has lost no dignity in doing so. It is like being married again to an intriguing stranger.
The din was lessening. Ahmose signalled. “Hor-Aha, bring the armbands,” he ordered, and his General shouldered his way through the flock of priests carrying a chest which he opened but kept, going down on one knee beside Ahmose. Aahmes-nefertari shifted so that she could peer into it and saw that it was full of wide silver bracelets. “You will now, all of you, swear allegiance to me, to the God’s Wife, and to the Hawk-in-the-Nest Ahmose-onkh.” Ahmose raised his voice. “Every prince and noble, every governor and administrator. I have not singled you out. I will require the same submissions from each town and city I pass on my way north. I do not intend this rite to be merely a matter of form. Your oath will be regarded as completely binding. First I invite those whose names my herald calls. I have decided to employ five permanent army divisions to be stationed here in Weset. All eleven divisions have new officers, but I will receive the permanent commanders first.” He nodded at Khabekhnet.
“The Division of Amun. General Turi, the Commander of Shock Troops Prince Ankhmahor, the Standard Bearer Idu.” The three men came forward, Ahmose’s childhood friend in the lead. Kamose had sent him and his family south, out of harm’s way, during the first desperate years of the insurrection and Ahmose had recently recalled them. Prostrating themselves, the men kissed Ahmose’s feet and both his hands, straightening a little to perform the same act on Ahmose-onkh who laughed delightedly. Moving to Aahmes-nefertari, they reverenced her with the same humble respect. Ahmose bade them rise and handed each of them an armband.
“The badge of your responsibility,” he said. “Do not use it like a club with which to beat your underlings nor as a tree to hide behind. The blessings of your Lord.”
“The Division of Ra,” Khabekhnet intoned. “General Kagemni, the Commander of Shock Troops Khnumhotep, the Standard Bearer Khaemhet.” Once again the homage was offered and received and the armbands distributed. “The Division of Thoth,” Khabekhnet shouted. “General Baqet, the Commander of Shock Troops Tchanny, the Standard Bearer Pepynakht.”
Aahmes-nefertari watched and listened attentively. She recognized very few of the men whose bodies were crouched over her and whose mouths touched her flesh. He has done exactly as he said he would, she thought. Most of these soldiers are from the ranks. Their posture, their stride, the rough combination of awkward pride and hesitant selfconsciousness, it all brands them as commoners. She stole a glance to where Mesehti and Makhu were standing, but she could read nothing on their faces. Ramose, close beside them, looked strained but calm. The other two divisions to be quartered at Weset were Horus and Montu, but six more had been newly formed and, by the time the non-military men had begun to file forward and bind themselves to their new King, the box Hor-Aha had steadily proffered was empty. Aahmes-nefertari was suddenly tired. The glorious Queen’s crown had begun to chafe her behind her ears and her spine was aching. So that is where all the silver went, she thought, and my husband with it. No wonder he was spending so much time here in the temple. He and Amunmose, the masons and jewellers and overseers of sacred protocol must have worked like the slaves of the Setiu to prepare for this day.
Ahmose-onkh had begun to squirm and whine quietly. Ahmose hushed him peremptorily and after a wail of protest his thumb crept into his mouth and he fell asleep against his father’s chest. When he woke in response to a gentle shake, his cheek had been imprinted with the design of Kamose’s pectoral.
They proceeded out of the temple on a tide of music and renewed clouds of incense to be met by a shower of flower petals and a delirious congregation of citizenry. Ahmoseonkh was yawning. Aahotep was disguising a limp. All at once she halted and turned to her steward. “Kares, go back and fetch me that young priest. You know the one,” she ordered. They waited, the guards struggling to hold back the clamorous people, the late afternoon sun dancing on the ripples of Amun’s canal and making them blink after the relative dimness of the inner court. Presently Kares returned with the young man. When he saw Aahotep he bowed low several times, his palms uplifted in a gesture of supplication. “Don’t worry,” Aahotep said kindly. “I want to thank you, not punish you. What is your name and position?”
“I am called Yuf, Exalted One,” he stammered. “I am a we’eb priest, servant to the servants of the god.”
“Well, Yuf, you have shown great presence of mind today,” Aahotep said. “Not to mention an impudent resourcefulness. I need a priest of my own. If you would like to serve me, come to the house tomorrow and ask for Kares.” She did not wait for a reply but hobbled straight to her litter, leaving Yuf’s startled face to be swallowed up in the crush. Aahmes-nefertari heard her rare, abrupt laugh from behind the closed curtains as she herself climbed into her own conveyance.
Late that night, after the feasting and the music, the congratulatory speeches, the garlands and wine and revelry, an exhausted Aahmes-nefertari lay on her husband’s couch in the blissful silence of his quarters. They had finished making love and Ahmose had just snuffed out the lamp. Darkness rushed in, soothing and welcome. “Here,” he said. “Put your head in the hollow of my shoulder and sleep beside me. Do you approve of what I did today, Aahmesnefertari? Was it wise?”
“Yes, I think so,” she replied drowsily. “Providing you remember to treat the Princes with more than your usual courtesy and give them the titles you promised. They are not stupid, Ahmose. They are surely aware that you have greatly curtailed their power. You must throw them a few bones.” He grunted and there was silence for a moment. She thought that he had drifted to sleep but suddenly she felt him stir.
“Oh, by the way,” he said casually. “I forgot to tell you earlier. I have appointed you the Second Prophet of Amun. Amunmose has agreed to my decision.” Mild shock jerked her completely awake.
“But why?” she exclaimed. “You have given me enough duties with the household guards and overseeing the construction of a town for the new divisions! How am I supposed to add service in the temple to those chores?” He said nothing, and she realized that he was waiting for her to come to an answer herself. “You need a spy in the temple, don’t you?” she said slowly. “You are fond of Amunmose but you do not trust him, or rather, you need to know that you can go on trusting him. The temple is a world unto itself. I am to link that world with this.”
“Yes,” he half-whispered. “It is honourable to serve the god, Aahmes-nefertari, and like Kamose I revere him and am ready to do his will. It is his servants who are full of the frailties of human nature. I do not want surprises. I do not want to come home to sedition, not ever.” She bit her lip, an indication of mild distress that he could not see.
“You don’t really trust anyone, do you, my husband?” she said.
“Only you, my lovely Queen,” he responded, a quiver of mirth in his voice. “Only you.”
3
AHMOSE, THE MEDJAY, and the Weset contingent of the army left for the north the following afternoon. Ahmose, standing above the water-steps with Ahmose-onkh’s small hand enclosed within his own, felt weary but satisfied. I did not know if I could do it, he thought. It was a risk, all of it, but I have established the foundation for a new fighting force, proclaimed my hold over most of the country, and broken the power of the Princes, although they do not know it yet. Only Apepa remains between me and total control. Only. He smiled ruefully to himself. At least I can concentrate on this campaigning season without worrying about what is happening behind my back. Aahmes-nefertari and Mother are well capable of ruling here in my absence and I am taking my potential enemies with me.
He cast a sidelong glance at Hor-Aha. The man was talking quietly to Ankhmahor, one black hand resting loosely on the hilt of
his sword, the other gesticulating lazily. Ankhmahor was looking at the ground, occasionally nodding gravely as he listened. He has not complained, Ahmose thought. Not since that first meeting when he said he understood. But it must be a bitter thing for him to find himself relegated to commanding nothing but the Medjay. I wish I did not need them so badly. Then it would not matter if he took them back to Wawat. As it is, I must take care to consult him as Kamose used to do, for it is true that his worth as a tactician is great. I wonder if he suspects that I have no intention of ratifying his noble title or of giving him an estate until I am completely assured of Egypt’s submission.
Around them swirled the activity of embarkation. Last-minutes stores were being carried up the ramps of the reed ships, Scribes of Assemblage were bent over their lists as soldiers filed past them, and those men already on deck were leaning on the guard rails watching the groups of officers still on the bank. I shall be sorry to miss the harvest, Ahmose’s thoughts ran on. How many years is it since I have seen the air full of flying chaff and heard the songs of the reapers as the stalks of grain fall under their blades? By the time I come home the Inundation will have begun, the granaries will be full, and the new wine will be fermenting in the vats.
The Horus Road Page 6