The Horus Road

by Pauline Gedge

  “The granaries are full, so grain is not a problem,” Ahmose interposed. “But gold from Kush and Wawat is not yet fully guaranteed. How will you honour this commitment?” She held up a finger.

  “I took the trouble to grant an audience to the men from Kush. They have wandered up to Weset from their tribes in the south seeking assurances that you will leave them alone. They fear Teti-En and the collection of tribes that compose his petty kingdom and they fear you. I told them that so long as they supply us with gold we will endeavour to protect them from Teti-the-Handsome if he should decide to expand the area of his influence.”

  “Did you indeed!” Ahmose exclaimed. “So I am to provide troops for Kush whenever the troglodytes imagine that their miserable lives are threatened? Have you made it worth my while?”

  “I think so,” she replied coolly, unperturbed by his outburst. “Kush will keep the gold mines working and also send us ivory, ebony, incense, lapis and exotic animal skins.”

  “Ah!” Ahmose nodded. “That is very good. So much in exchange for nothing more than a promise of protection. Let us hope that Teti-En remains content with the curious conglomeration of villages he calls his kingdom. I am surprised that he has not sent emissaries to us now that his so-called brother Apepa has been rendered impotent.” He sighed. “But, Aahmes-nefertari, I need cedar from Rethennu to build masts for my ships. When will Het-Uart fall?”

  There was a moment of silence during which his wife looked across at him, her dark eyebrows raised. She waits for a compliment, he realized suddenly. She has accomplished a great deal on my behalf and I sit here like a selfish idiot. “I am amazed at your efficiency and the success of your efforts,” he said at last. “Let us hope that all agreements will bear fruit. Now what of that list of names?” She nodded as though satisfied with his words, and this time instead of reading from the papyrus she slid it across the table.

  “Hammering out the trading contracts was as nothing compared to the months I spent preparing this for you,” she said crisply. “I searched the archives in the House of Life here in Weset for the lineages of eligible men. After Khunes came into my employ, I sent him to every House of Life as far as Khemmenu in the north and Swenet in the south, with the same goal. When he returned, I laid out our findings. Age, family history and connections, talents, success or failure in dealing with their own overseers and peasants, behaviour under our father’s and Kamose’s uprisings; many of my conclusions were a result of a series of hints regarding each candidate that gathered themselves together like grains of sand in a forgotten corner of the house.” She jerked her chin towards the list over which he was now frowning. “All the judgement and intuition of which I am capable went into that,” she told him. “I am prepared to hold myself responsible for the loyalty of every man I selected.”

  “Are you?” he said, surprised. “Then you must have been extraordinarily thorough in your research and confident in its outcome.” He shook the paper and his face cleared. “I see that you have not only produced a list of names but also which ones will suit which nomes best. I only recognize a few of them.” His relief was evident. He had hardly bothered to scan the list. “I confess that it will be a weight lifted from my mind when they are in place and sending me regular communications. I daresay that you and Mother have set those arrangements in place as well?” She made a teasing moue and retrieved the sheet.

  “Of course,” she said promptly. “I have hired new heralds who are only waiting for your order to summon the men to Weset to swear their allegiance at your feet before scattering to take up their posts.” She hesitated. “Ahmose, it might be advantageous to invent a title for them. They will outwardly be advisers to the governors and Princes but knowing themselves to be little more than spies could be offensive to them. I have chosen them for their honesty and reliability, after all.” He grunted.

  “I told you months ago that never again during my reign would any noble’s head be permitted to rise above the level I alone will determine,” he said, “and that I would be quite happy to heap titles on them until it took their servants a whole morning to announce them. Titles mean nothing unless accompanied by power, and power I will not give them! Therefore I agree with you.” He gazed up at the ceiling and his sandalled foot began to tap against the table’s gilded leg. “What shall we call them? Let me see. How about ‘Herald of his Lord and King’s Son’? The epithet ‘Herald’ will raise their messages to me above the status of clandestine intercourse, in their own minds at least, and ‘King’s Son’ will make them feel uniquely attached to me. Yes?”

  “You are a clever and devious god!” she laughed. “Yes, you have chosen well. Will you give them no power at all, Ahmose?”

  “I will not speak of authority to them when they kneel before me,” he replied thoughtfully. “But I will be prepared to give them the governorship of any nome that is being mismanaged or whose governor is fomenting unrest.”

  “The exception is of course Ramose,” she pointed out. “You have given him the governorship of the Un nome and full control of Khemmenu, Nefrusi, Hor and Dashlut. I did not place any secondary name against his.”

  “No. It is not necessary to have Ramose watched. Him I do indeed trust.”

  “You are losing your caution,” she ventured.

  “Not entirely,” he said. “Sometimes I dream of the Princes’ revolt. I was lying unconscious and wounded and did not see it, nor your and Mother’s great bravery in putting it down, but the nightmare of it visits me anyway. I want no knife in the back when I am least expecting it, Aahmesnefertari. Nor do I want to use up my reign in rushing here and there with my divisions putting down insurrections.”

  “It is not really mistrust any more, is it, my husband?” He met her eyes and saw affection there.

  “No, it isn’t,” he said simply. “You have utterly justified the trust I placed in you, my dearest sister, and that has encouraged me to have faith in the men you have gathered around you in my absence.”

  “Thank you, Ahmose,” she said shakily. “I have needed to hear that. Are you then no longer jealous?” He looked for humour in her face, hoping he would find it, but she was completely serious. He did not want to, but he was forced to answer her with equal sincerity. They had been talking as they used to do in the past when they had made decisions together in perfect accord and he sensed the damage to be done if he spoke with levity.

  “Sometimes it still rises up in me, as anger does in you,” he admitted huskily. “But I love you, Aahmes-nefertari. I love you as I have always done.” To his discomfiture he saw her eyes swim with sudden tears.

  “I love you also, my brother,” she said. At her side on the floor Khunes stirred.

  “Your pardon, Majesty, but I presume that you do not wish a record of the words spoken after ‘the men you have gathered around you in my absence’?” Aahmes-nefertari laughed shakily.

  “Indeed not!” she agreed. Ahmose watched her, half-expecting her to reach down and pat the scribe on his linen-covered head. Awkwardly he changed the subject, rising as he did so.

  “There has been no scroll from Mother or Grandmother for quite some time,” he observed. Obediently Aahmesnefertari also left her chair, but abruptly and unexpectedly she raised her arms above her head, stretched slowly, and yawned, exposing her long, gold-hung throat. The feline quality of the act caught Ahmose by surprise and to his greater surprise he felt himself becoming sexually aroused.

  “I am sure that they are safe and in good health,” she replied. “In her last letter Mother said that there were indeed repairs to be made on her ancestor’s tomb at Djeb and that until they were completed she and Tetisheri were comfortably settled in a house by the river. I think they are enjoying the languid pace of life in the south.” He came around the table and slid a hand under her hair. The nape of her neck was hot.

  “I will leave the summoning of the men on the list to you,” he murmured. “Meanwhile let us go to my quarters, Aahmesnefertari, or yours, it does not matter
. I have missed you in my bed. I want to make love to you.” He had swallowed a large portion of his pride in making his request so nakedly and he waited anxiously for her response. For a moment she remained motionless. He was about to withdraw his hand in embarrassment, but at last she turned to him with first suspicion and then a dawning gladness lighting her features. Yes, this time I will be fully present with you, he said to her silently. She must have read the thought behind his eyes, for she bent her head until its crown rested against his chest.

  “I am yours to command, Majesty,” she whispered. “And you, Khunes, can draft a letter to be carried to the men the King has now approved. I will look it over later.”

  It was the beginning of a reconciliation of sorts between them, a process which had its share of setbacks and woundings as they struggled to come to terms with the changes that had taken place in each other. It was aided both by the complex but increasingly stable routine of court life with which Ahmose was becoming familiar and Aahmesnefertari’s pregnancy. As the weeks went by she had less desire to be actively involved with the people she had appointed or the policies that she herself had initially instigated, being content to have each day’s events and decisions recounted to her by Ahmose in the evenings they had now taken to spending together.

  At the beginning of Khoiak, just after the Feast of Hathor, when the river had almost reached its highest level and the air was losing its edge of searing heat, Ahmose Abana arrived. He had tied his skiff to a pole at the watersteps and, preceded by one of the heralds who were always stationed by the gates, he made his way to the garden where Ahmose and his wife with their personal staff were enjoying the last of the sunset. Pa-she and Ahmose-onkh were also present. Aahmes-nefertari’s diminishing lap was filled with pieces of clay, for the boy had been proudly showing her the lessons he had so far inscribed on them. Ahmose was watching them both with idle pleasure. The diffused red glow permeating the air and now rapidly fading had enveloped them in its soft light and their voices, his wife’s low, his son’s strident, echoed in the peculiar auditory hallucination that often accompanied the final glimpse of Ra’s disc as he slipped below the horizon.

  Mosquitoes trembled above the placid pink surface of the pond and shadows had begun to merge into one dim mass beneath the trees surrounding the lawn. The large lamps hanging from the frame of the canopy had not yet been lit and Ahmose had just signalled to Akhtoy to do so when a herald materialized out of the gloom, another figure behind him, and bowed. “The Admiral Ahmose Abana, Your Majesty,” he announced.

  “What?” Ahmose waved him aside. “Abana, what are you doing here? It is scarcely six weeks since you ended your month’s leave in Nekheb and returned to the Delta. You look terrible. Akhtoy, give the taper to someone else and have food and wine brought.”

  As the young man came forward and bowed, his shoulders hunched and his normally animated face wooden, a spasm of fear shook Ahmose. The Wall of Princes has been retaken by the enemy, he thought wildly. The Setiu have found more troops and they are even now pouring into the Delta along the Horus Road. The gates of Het-Uart opened and my army could not stand and Apepa is marching on Weset. Taking a deep breath, he forced down the panic and snapped his fingers at Pa-she. “Ahmoseonkh, it is time for you to go to bed,” he said. “Don’t argue. Gather up your work and put it back in the bag. Kiss me and your mother.” With a well-concealed pout of disappointment Ahmose-onkh did as he was told, and taking his hand Pa-she led him away. Ahmose found himself staring after their figures, the tall and the short, both silhouetted against the torches that had begun to shine out from the house, in a kind of stupor. Rousing himself, he looked about. “Ipi, you stay,” he ordered. “The rest of you are dismissed.” At once the servants reverenced him and scattered, all but Hekayib who was swiftly moving from lamp to lamp with the taper. As he went, he left behind him great circles of strengthening light that threw his shadow out before him on the rough grass. Ahmose watched Abana’s features sharpen into full focus as the night was pushed back. The man did indeed look exhausted, his eyes swollen half-shut, his shoulders hunched. Hekayib completed his task, blew out the taper, bowed, and vanished into the pressing darkness.

  Ahmose beckoned the Admiral. “You had better sit down before you fall down, Abana,” he said. “Are you alone? Did you come in the Shining in Mennofer?” Abana sank onto the mat with a groan of relief.

  “I came alone in the lightest skiff I could find, Majesty,” he answered hoarsely. “I needed speed. It was a mistake not to bring help, for I have had to row against the highest level of the river with the winter winds against me, but I wanted to give you my news in person before it filtered down to Weset through other mouths.” He rubbed an eye with one grubby finger and smiled wanly. “Battling the flood, even in a skiff, is no mean feat.”

  Be calm, Ahmose told himself as his whole body tensed. Why do you presume that his news is bad? How can it be bad when my soldiers are ranged as thickly as rows of grain around Het-Uart?

  “I know your skill on water,” he said irritably. “You do not need to remind me. Tell me what has happened.” Abana looked up at him.

  “We have failed you, Majesty,” he admitted. “We had a chance to capture Apepa and we blundered. I bring abject apologies from the generals responsible for keeping the city enclosed.”

  “Capture him?” Aahmes-nefertari put in sharply. “Are you telling us that Het-Uart has fallen?” She was leaning forward, her incredulous expression clear in the yellow lamplight. Abana shook his head.

  “May the gods punish us for our sloth,” he said bitterly. “I will not excuse us, but I will say that a siege of years is a wearisome thing and men may become inattentive at their posts while still performing their duty.” He was stumbling a little over his words, and though Ahmose was desperate to hear what story might unfold, he held up a hand.

  “Eat and drink before you go on,” he said. “Akhtoy is here.” The steward had approached with a servant who laid a dish beside Abana and withdrew. Akhtoy poured wine. Abana snatched it from him and drank deeply before attacking the food. Ahmose waited. At last Abana wiped his mouth on his already stained kilt.

  “Forgive me, Majesty …” he began, and at that Ahmose’s patience deserted him.

  “Humility before the gods is highly commendable,” he roared, “but before a King it is an annoying obstacle best kicked out of the way. You of all men are least given to its exercise, Admiral, therefore stop attempting to master it and deliver your news!”

  “Nevertheless, Majesty, my boastful nature has been to some degree reduced by my own idiocy, as you will hear,” Abana came back promptly with a spark of his usual impertinence. He crossed his legs, and grasping his knees he began to rock gently to and fro. He is genuinely chastened, Ahmose thought in surprise. This is not a show. “On the twelfth of Athyr we celebrated the last day of the Festival of Hapi,” Abana went on. “Of course the whole army took part, but as Hapi is god of the Nile we of the navy observed the rites with especial reverence and joy.” He shot Ahmose a quick glance. “When I say the whole army, I mean those men not on duty. And a portion of the navy was continuing its patrol of the canals around Het-Uart, soberly and correctly.”

  “The rest of you got drunk,” Ahmose said dryly. Abana nodded.

  “As always on such happy occasions,” he agreed. “Paheri had taken command of the navy that night. I and my crew were part of those who, having been relieved, were sitting around the cooking fires with our beer. We were on the east side of the city with water between us and the walls. Suddenly we heard a great commotion coming from the west side where the main tributary snakes beside Het-Uart and where the gate had opened once before. I got up and began to run. When I reached the gate, I saw that a host of Setiu had come out silently under cover of the darkness and were attacking our soldiers. The gate had closed again. Our men were surprised and confused. They had received no warning.”

  “Of course there had been no warning!” Ahmose protested. “Did the genera
ls expect the Setiu to stand on the wall holding torches and shouting ‘get ready, we are coming out’?” Abana’s grip tightened on his knees.

  “I am s— The city had been very quiet for such a long time, for weeks, Majesty, as though it had died. The foray was completely unexpected. Our soldiers rallied and I saw our ships come round to assist them. I ran back to where the Shining in Mennofer was berthed, my crew with me. We were opposite the east side of Het-Uart. We cast off intending to join the fray, but as I stared at the section of the wall across the water from me I saw movement.” He clapped a hand to his head. “Fool that I am! I was not on duty. I had been drunk. I was becoming sober but not fast enough. The wall and the sky above were very dark. I could not see well, but my cousin Zaa was beside me and he pointed into the gloom. ‘There are men lowering something,’ he said. ‘I think it is a boat.’ Even as he spoke, it struck the water. I was puzzled. If I had not been awash with beer I would have realized sooner that the fighting to the west was nothing but a diversion, but I stood on the deck of my ship without understanding. ‘They are lowering another thing,’ Zaa said. ‘It looks like a big basket. What is happening, Ahmose?’ Abana clenched his fists and pounded the ground. “Majesty, I still did not see,” he cried out. “If I had let that basket descend to the ground, if I had waited quietly, I would be presenting myself to you this evening in triumph with your vile enemy tied to my mast!”

  “Apepa was in the basket,” Aahmes-nefertari said tonelessly. “He was trying to escape. What a dishonourable act, to desert his people and sneak away like the weasel that he is. How did you know it was he? Was there anyone else with him?” Tani, Ahmose thought immediately and he groped for his wife’s fingers. Finding them cold, he squeezed them gently.