“Abana, you are able to constantly amaze and delight me,” he said. “Well done. You have opened my path before me.” The men who had been surveying the hall had been drawn to the group at the foot of the dais and had listened to Abana’s tale with rapt attention. Now, seeing the King embrace his Admiral, a murmur of approval ran through them. Abana dropped to one knee.
“Majesty, your touch is the greatest privilege that could be bestowed upon your subjects!” he exclaimed. “I am truly honoured!”
“Get up,” Ahmose said. He was scanning the four prisoners without much interest. “I have already given you enough gold to keep you in lentils for the rest of your life, Abana. Would you like to keep these Setiu?” Yamusa cried out and his wife burst into tears. “Be silent!” Ahmose roared, the sound striking the walls and returning magnified by the void all around. “There was no word for ‘slave’ in our language until your ancestors brought it in! Abana?” The Prince was looking doubtful.
“Courtiers are no good for physical labour, Majesty,” he commented. “And it might be foolish to place foreigners in positions of responsibility. The two girls could be trained to perform domestic chores or even as body servants, but Yamusa is a herald. Perhaps he can learn to call the tally to my Overseer of Grain while the harvest is being piled in my granary.” He turned a sober eye on their agitation. “Oh, do not worry,” he said scornfully. “We who live under the mantle of Ma’at are not wantonly cruel. We treat our servants well. Thank you, Majesty. I will take them.” He snapped his fingers and his sailors ushered them out. The woman was still weeping. “Now!” Abana went on. “When do we leave for Sharuhen?”
“As soon as we may,” Ahmose replied. “You have my gratitude, Prince. You are dismissed.” Sebek-khu had come up beside him. “Make sure the palace is empty and then set fire to it,” he ordered the General. “Every piece of furniture, every hanging, every couch and piece of cloth. There is to be no looting. Not one silver cup is to leave the building. Burn it all and then raze whatever is left. But the northern wall beyond the grounds was erected by my ancestor Osiris Senwasret. See that it remains standing.”
“What of the city itself?” Sebek-khu wanted to know. Ahmose hesitated. He would have liked to command its complete destruction but that would take much unnecessary time and effort.
“It is a festering slum,” he admitted, “and I suppose it ought to be levelled. However, it is very advantageously placed for any trade coming into the Delta from the Great Green. I will give some thought to having it repopulated. The defences here and on the northern mound must go. Your division and the Division of Horus under Khety can see to it. Ten thousand men should be enough to tear them down.”
He and the remaining Followers left the throne room then, and guided by one of Sebek-khu’s officers he made his way outside. Night was gradually giving way to a faint thinning and the stars were paling. Ahmose took a deep breath. The air smelled stale and was very still. Ra was not yet breathing, although he was nearing the moment of his birth. Dismissing the man and telling him that the mayor Semken could be released, Ahmose strode quickly across the desiccated ruin of Apepa’s lawns and out through the towering gates. Here he encountered Turi, and Makhu had returned with the chariot, but Ahmose lingered. “I want to see the sun rise from here, from the centre of Het-Uart,” he told his friend. “It will not be long. Walk with me, Turi. The dawn is very chilly.”
For some time they strolled around the area before the wall. Soldiers streamed in and out of the gates. The horses stood patiently, heads lowered, blowing softly out of their nostrils. Makhu was sitting on the floor of the chariot, the reins slung over his shoulder. Beyond the city a mist hung about the feathered tips of the motionless palms and the horizon to the east was still lost in a soft, pearly greyness.
All at once Turi stumbled, and bending swiftly he retrieved the thing that had caught in his sandal. Brushing the soil from it, he examined it casually and then more closely. It was a charm or part of an amulet approximately the length of his palm and as he studied it an expression of disgust grew on his face. “Majesty, look at this,” he said, passing it to Ahmose.
At first glance it appeared to be the work of an artist with no ability, a kneeling figure whose head was too large, its torso too short and undefined, and its lower portion reversed so that its trousered buttocks were presented. But as Ahmose stared at it, he saw that in fact there were two figures. The one above had two large slanting eyes without pupils above a thin nose and a widely grinning mouth. In spite of the clever caricature the features were undeniably Setiu. Its face was canted slightly downward, giving it a gloating, predatory effect. It wore a ribbed and pleated headdress and from its forehead the crude likeness of a snake curled back.
Beneath the lappets of the headdress two extended arms ended in bony, clawed fingers curved about the imprisoned elbows of the second figure who was kneeling before it, head lost in the shadow of its neck, knees bent and spread, its lower back sunk and straining under the pain of its position. “Look closely at the feet,” Turi said tersely. Ahmose did so, not sure what he was supposed to see. Puzzled, he glanced at Turi. “The Egyptian’s leg has been broken,” Turi showed him. “One foot is turned up in the natural way, revealing its underside. But the other is flat. You cannot see the arch. He has been tortured. There is pure hate in that little carving.” Ahmose wanted to fling it away but he found himself still holding it.
“It has been made from a mould,” he said. “There might be dozens, hundreds of them scattered about Het-Uart. This is not just contempt for us, Turi, this is indeed pure hatred.” His own fingers closed around it as though his flesh could insulate him from its invisible fume of corruption. At that moment a faint breeze brushed his cheek. He lifted his head. The whole eastern horizon was now flushed with scarlet and in the centre of his gaze the sky was shimmering. Even as he watched, Ra lipped the edge of the earth, rising triumphant over a free and united Egypt for the first time in many hentis, and Ahmose stood there with unfelt tears on his cheeks and the symbol of all he had won held tightly in his hand.
Tani was deeply asleep when he entered his tent, the chests containing her belongings piled neatly against one wall and Heket, equally lost in slumber, sprawled on a mat on the carpet beside her. Ahmose was hungry, but he needed rest. Warning Akhtoy to wake him at noon, he quickly shed his sandals, pulled off his limp kilt and helmet, and fell onto his own cot and into his dreams almost simultaneously. When he woke to find the steward bending over him and the aroma of freshly baked bread filling the tent, he was still clutching the Setiu charm. Akhtoy took it from him, grimaced briefly as he saw what it was, and tossed it into Ahmose’s jewellery box. “Your sister is walking by the water in the company of Heket and a guard,” he said in answer to Ahmose’s question. “She ate very little when she woke, Majesty. She seemed pleased to see me again, as I was to see her.” He hesitated, the agony of polite indecision written all over his face. “Forgive me, Majesty, but how am I to address her and in what way is she to be served? An army camp is no place for a Princess.” Ahmose had sat up and was surveying the contents of the tray Akhtoy had set before him. In the background Hekayib was moving quietly around a basin of steaming water, a razor in one hand and clean linen draped across his arm. Ahmose sighed gustily.
“I know,” he said. “I want to send her back to Weset but I fear she will not go. You must call her Queen Tautha, Akhtoy, and accord her the deference due to her title. I suppose she has become my prisoner,” he went on gloomily. “Go to the Scribe of Distribution of Turi’s division and ask him for an officer’s tent for her. When you have done that, send Ipi and Khabekhnet to me. And keep her out of here until I have been washed and shaved.”
He ate and drank with pleasure, sat quietly while Hekayib shaved his face and skull, and allowed himself to be dressed, enjoying every moment of his liberation. For that was what it was. Liberation. His determination to pursue Apepa had been reinforced by the sight of that profane little carving, but m
ounting a campaign in Rethennu would not be the same as taking Het-Uart. He would be leaving an unpolluted Egypt from which the last vestiges of foreign occupation had been purged. Rethennu had poured an ocean of soldiers into the Delta over the last few years. The Princes there had denuded themselves of men in order to shore up Apepa’s weakening hold on the country. Ahmose did not anticipate any great struggle to reach Sharuhen. It was time to send out scouts who would describe the fortress.
Hekayib had just tied Ahmose’s sandals and was tidying away his cosmetics table when Tani returned. She entered the tent diffidently, almost shyly, the multi-coloured cloak enveloping her, her own colour high from the brisk morning air. Ahmose greeted her and invited her to sit. She did so cautiously, perching on the edge of the stool and watching him somewhat warily. He felt irritated by her and angry at his own pettiness. This was his sister, his blood, sacrificed by Kamose and now returned to him whole and sane. I ought to be overjoyed to see her here, he thought, but all I want to do is punish her. Perhaps I am angry because I do not like to imagine Apepa as having any kindness or mercy in his character. I want to slaughter a monster, not kill a man. “Akhtoy has not changed at all,” she began. “He is exactly the same. He is finding me my own tent.”
“Yes.”
“It is really not necessary to have me watched all the time, Ahmose. Even if I wanted to run away, I do not think that Heket and I would get very far on our own, do you?” He scrutinized her carefully.
“I don’t know,” he answered warily. “I don’t know you any more, Tani. Perhaps you are entirely capable of trekking all the way to Sharuhen. That is what you want, isn’t it?” Her eyes became clouded and she leaned forward.
“Yes, more than anything!” she said. “Please don’t send me to Weset, Ahmose! It is not my home any more. If you do, I shall simply leave as soon as I can slip away. Apepa is my home. He needs me.”
“Spare me the speech you have given me already,” he cut in brusquely. “Apepa is almost twice my age and you are three years younger. I can understand his salacious desire to have you in his bed but don’t insult me by pretending that you harbour any affection for him.” Her features twisted.
“But I do,” she cried out. “Oh what is the use! Chain me and send me back to my mother whose forgiveness and gentleness will burn me like the hot coals of a brazier! And my grandmother, who will not trouble to disguise her contempt for me! And my sister, who is now herself a Queen and will not miss an opportunity to remind me that it is far better to be a Queen of Egypt than the wife of a fugitive chieftain!”
Ahmose swallowed uncomfortably. Her outburst came far nearer to the truth than he wanted to admit. He did not remember her as being so astute. Perhaps she is right, he thought, and the thought surprised him. Perhaps she will never really be welcome any more in Egypt, with the taint of Setiu on her. What could she be at court in Weset other than a curiosity?
“An army on the march is no place for you,” he said. “We have no litters. You cannot stand in a chariot for hours on end.”
“But I could sit in one!” she broke in eagerly, sensing victory. “I could curl up at your feet, behind your charioteer! Armies do not speed, Ahmose. Will you take me with you?”
“I intend to kill him, and his sons too,” Ahmose said heavily. “His line must be extinguished so that no threat to Egypt remains. No plea will sway me when I face him, Tani. There is too much at stake for me to care about your misguided loyalties.”
“I know. I will not think of that now. Will you take me, Ahmose? In memory of the love we all once had for each other?”
“We still love you, Tani,” he said but he was lying and she knew it. “Yes, I will take you to Sharuhen. And may you have joy of the journey.”
They were interrupted by both Ipi and Khabekhnet, and gratefully Ahmose turned to more welcome considerations. He wished that she would leave while he gave his instructions but he could hardly expect her to hover outside while he did so. “Ipi, take down these orders for Khabekhnet to carry,” he said. Ipi had already sunk cross-legged to the floor and was readying his palette. “The scouts of the following divisions are to leave for Sharuhen at once. Amun, Ra, Ptah, Thoth and Osiris. They must take the Horus Road, contacting Generals Iymery and Neferseshemptah on the way. Those two divisions, Khonsu and Anubis, will remain in the Delta for now. Then the scouts may pass on to the Wall of Princes and thus into Rethennu. I will follow almost at once and will expect their reports as soon as possible. Make six copies, one for each scout and one for your files. Khabekhnet, when you have delivered them, appoint heralds to take the news of Het-Uart’s fall to the whole country. Have it called in every village, but designate one to go straight to Weset with a scroll for the Queen which I shall dictate as soon as Ipi has prepared the commands for the scouts. Am I understood?” Khabekhnet nodded. “And tell General Hor-Aha and Prince Abana that ten ships full of Medjay will be required to take the tributary right out to the Great Green and so cut off any aid to Sharuhen from the sea. That should be challenge enough for my impulsive Admiral. That is all.” They made their obeisances and left. Tani stirred.
“Five divisions,” she said. “Twenty-five thousand men. Do you think you can take Sharuhen with so few, Ahmose?”
“I do not anticipate any resistance on the way. Rethennu is exhausted,” he replied testily. “If I do encounter trouble, I can bring up the two divisions in the eastern Delta very quickly. I …” He stopped speaking, suddenly aware that he was about to discuss his strategy with an enemy. What if Tani escaped his vigilance somewhere close to Sharuhen and ran ahead to warn her husband that the Egyptian army was coming? Would she do such a thing? Would her betrayal extend to an active treason? She was waiting for him to continue, her expression alert, her eyes sharp with concentration, but he could see nothing furtive in her face. It was as open as it had ever been. Tani had never been able to hide her thoughts. “Further than that I cannot see,” he finished lamely. “The scouts will describe Sharuhen.”
“It is a mighty fortress,” she said unexpectedly. “A walled city like Het-Uart but with the advantage of the ocean to protect its western flank. Pezedkhu told me. It will not be an easy conquest, Ahmose.” At once he was ashamed of his accusatory thoughts.
“Yet conquer it I will,” he said emphatically to hide his discomfiture.
There was an exchange of voices outside and almost at once the tent flap was raised. Ahmose had expected to see Ankh-mahor but it was Ramose who came forward. He bowed reverently to them both, something he often forgot to do and for which Ahmose forgave him. Obviously he had something weighty on his mind. “Majesty, I would like to speak to you privately,” he said. He did not look at Tani. She rose at once and shrugged the heavy cloak around her shoulders.
“I will go and see if my tent is ready,” she said. On passing Ramose she paused, but he kept his gaze on her brother and with a scarcely audible sigh she went out.
“Sit down,” Ahmose offered. “I am very sorry that your hopes have been withered, Ramose. You must feel as though your soul has been drenched in acid.” Ramose took the stool Tani had left. He did not respond to Ahmose’s implied invitation to unburden himself. Instead he spoke.
“You will be marching on Sharuhen within the week, Ahmose.” It was a statement. Ahmose nodded.
“Then I have a request. No, a petition.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I pray that you will not consider me faithless to you or fickle to Tani when you have heard it. The gods know that I have carried my love for her like a child in the womb for years but now that love is stillborn.” He glanced across at Ahmose. “The part of me where my memories live will always love her but I am sick to death of the past.” He drew one finger across his eyelid and Ahmose realized how tired he was. “Forgive me,” he went on. “I have spent the better part of the night in my tent thinking, and this morning in the palace. The fires have been set. It is beginning to burn.”
Ahmose waited. There was a silence while his friend took a breath, p
ursed his lips, frowned, and finally flung up his hands. “I ask you to let me go home to Khemennu,” he burst out. “If Tani had gone with Apepa to Sharuhen, I would want to come with you, but it is pointless now. I am not one of your generals. I accompany you as your friend. But you do not need me by your side any more. I would like to take up my governorship immediately.” Ahmose felt his heart sink.
“You have been my defence against the loss of Kamose,” he said slowly. “Indeed, you have often taken his place. But if you wish to go home, you have my permission. And my blessing.” However, Ramose’s expression of distress did not change.
“There is more,” he admitted. “I would like to take Hat-Anath and her parents with me.”
For a moment the name meant nothing to Ahmose, but then he remembered the girl in Apepa’s apartments, dishevelled and defiant, and with her face two others came into his mind, sketched in a terrible clarity. Ramose’s father, Teti, and his wife, Nefer-Sakharu, both tools of the Setiu, both executed for treason. Ahmose remembered the many tragedies Ramose had endured at the hands of himself and Kamose. Had Tani’s defection been the last stone laid upon his friend’s back, the one that had broken him at last? This is a test for you, King of Egypt, his mind whispered. Will you live with your feet continually bogged down in the morass of mistrust or will you choose this moment to pull yourself free?
“For what purpose?” he managed. “Do you want more servants on your estate? And what of Senehat?”
“No.” Ramose said decisively. “I like Hat-Anath. She is gently bred and she has spirit. She reminds me a little of Tani, or perhaps Tani as she might have been if fate had not dealt so cruelly with us. She will make a good governor’s wife and I, dear Ahmose, I will make a good governor. As for Senehat, I am very fond of her. She was a diligent servant and a gentle presence in my bed in Weset when I most needed a woman’s comfort. If she wishes to come to Khemmenu, it will not be as an underling. I will find her an honest husband.” He was looking directly into Ahmose’s eyes as he said this. You are not a fool, are you? Ahmose thought. He got up.
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