“You have commanded Akhtoy to erect my tent beside yours,” she said without preamble. “But I will not be needing it, Ahmose. I wish to go into the city at once.” Her chin was up and her eyes were defiant. He scanned her face, weighing the advisability of keeping her with him through the strategy discussions he was about to hold.
“I would like to issue a formal request for Apepa’s surrender before I say farewell to you,” he answered her. “That will be done in the morning. I beg you to endure my company for two more days, Tani.” Her expression softened.
“I am sorry,” she said contritely. “I am torn in two between my love for my husband and my loyalty to you, my brother. I will stay. This is an unforgiving site, is it not?”
“Yes, it is. Change your mind and let me send you home!” he urged without much hope. “What is there for you to look forward to but exile among foreigners here or in similar places for the rest of your life! And if your husband dies, you will be nothing, the minor wife of a fugitive chieftain. Do you not sometimes miss your little room on the estate at Weset, the lily pond and the hippopotamuses, your mother’s voice and the desert at sunset?”
“Yes, I miss those things,” she said quietly. “It makes no difference, Ahmose. If my tent is ready I will go and rest.”
Ahmose held his conference inside his own tent at dusk to escape the first chill of evening. The space was crowded with his men but they were subdued, sipping their wine soberly and talking mildly, without enthusiasm. Six Keftian captains had come with Abana and now sat cross-legged on the floor around him, their tight leather caps reflecting the lamplight, their dark eyes wary and their thin, aquiline noses poised to sniff the way this new wind would blow.
The furore on the walls of the city had died down but citizens still thronged up there, looking out curiously upon the Egyptian host. Ahmose had forbidden the arriving Medjay to shoot at them. There was no point yet in killing anyone.
“I have given much thought to our situation,” he began, and at once all conversation ceased. “I do not need to tell you all that we are in an untenable situation. Not with regard to a siege, of course. We have become experts at that particular military necessity. I am referring to the need to feed and water twenty-five thousand soldiers.” No one moved and no one had laughed at his bitter joke. “This afternoon I have set up a series of stages back along the route we have come, with runners and a handful of soldiers to carry news quickly to and from the Delta. But the distance is too great for the continual transportation of water and difficult even for food. I could send an expedition into the mountains where there must be streams and springs to nourish the tribesmen who inhabit that region but I am loath to approach them. They gave no aid to Apepa in Egypt. I presume that they will not care to help us and even if they did agree, the supply would be dependent upon both their goodwill and whatever we were willing to pay them, and thus unreliable. I cannot take the chance of seeing my army die of thirst at the mercy of Rethennu’s goatherders.” He swivelled in his chair and fixed his eyes on the Keftians. “Are you aware that your ruler has concluded treaties with my court at Weset?” he asked. They nodded and one scrambled to his feet.
“We know of this, Majesty,” he said. “Already an exchange of goods is passing between Keftiu and Weset. Trade between our countries has always been peaceful and profitable and you will please forgive me if I say that we have not cared who sat on the Horus Throne so long as we could embark from Egypt with linen and papyrus in our holds. The Setiu no longer control the Delta; therefore we are disposed to help you as we are able.”
“You have six ships anchored off the coast,” Ahmose stated.
“Yes. We had unloaded urns of oil for Sharuhen and were preparing to sail home.”
“They are large ocean-going vessels, Majesty,” Abana broke in. “We have nothing like them. They would do very well.” He had obviously caught the drift of Ahmose’s thought. Ahmose smiled at him wryly then turned his attention back to the Keftian.
“If you will agree to ferry food but particularly water from the Delta to my army here, I will pay you with gold,” he told him. “And of course you would accrue a store of goodwill in Egypt that Keftiu might wish to call upon in the future.”
The captain hesitated. He adjusted the wide woven belt around his waist and pulled at the wrap of his black-andwhite patterned skirt. Then he folded his arms. “Keftiu is continuing to trade with Rethennu, Majesty,” he pointed out cautiously. “They supply us with cedar and other things we value. If I and my fellow captains help you, we are in danger of provoking Rethennu into cutting off trade with us.”
“I have no quarrel with Rethennu,” Ahmose said emphatically. “I fought Setiu soldiers who were sent into the Delta, into Egypt, to bolster Apepa. I am here because I want Apepa, not because I plan to invade and subjugate Rethennu. When I have him, I will go home. This incursion will not extend beyond Sharuhen.” The captain still looked doubtful. His compatriots were studying the carpet.
“I must send to my merchant on Keftiu and he will approach our ruler,” he said. “I do not want to inadvertently make an enemy of either Rethennu or Egypt.” He was clearly becoming distressed.
“Send then,” Ahmose said heavily. “And if you receive permission, ask for more of Keftiu’s ships. Six will not be enough. I will dictate a letter to your ruler asking for his brotherly help. But while you are waiting for a reply, will you work with Prince Abana in bringing us water? For gold?” The captain gave in. His arms loosened.
“Very well,” he agreed, and sank to the floor.
“Thank you. If you will go with the Commander of my Followers who is outside, he will find you a meal, and my Admiral and his marines will see you safely back to your ships.” Abana rose at once and while the Keftians were filing out he came over to Ahmose.
“Their ships are interesting, Majesty,” he said in a low voice. “I and my captains can learn much about their construction and handling. Later we will need such craft of our own if we are to extend Egypt’s trade.”
“Treat them courteously, Abana,” Ahmose replied in the same tone. “Praise their seamanship. Let our sailors mingle with theirs. I have no doubt that the ruler of Keftiu will see the wisdom in giving us aid, but in the meantime I need that water!” Abana bowed and smiled.
“I understand perfectly, Majesty. Rest assured that tomorrow morning they will be on their way to the Delta escorted by the Kha-em-Mennofer. I expect to return with water in six days. I will instruct Paheri to dispatch more ships from here in three days. Thus a constant if meagre supply will be ensured until more ships arrive from Keftiu.” He went out and the remaining men exchanged glances.
“A brilliant move, Majesty,” General Akhethotep purred. “Keftiu has more to lose in the long run by refusing us support than by choosing to side with Rethennu. Now what shall we do about Sharuhen?” No one answered him.
Ahmose slept well that night in spite of the fruitless discussion in which he and his generals had become mired. Sieging was simple. Protecting the outer flanks of the army was simple. Only entering Sharuhen was impossible, and after several hours of useless wrangling and ever more unrealistic plans Ahmose sent them back to their quarters. Hor-Aha had made the only solid suggestion, that when one of the gates opened to admit Tani it might be stormed. It was a valid though slim idea and Hor-Aha was disappointed when Ahmose refused it. “It would make my sister seem to be a traitor to her husband,” he had told them. “Apepa and the chieftain of Sharuhen would believe that she had betrayed her honour. Desperate as I am to put an end to this protracted war, I will not do Tani this disservice.”
“Majesty, your familial loyalty does you credit,” Iymery had said. Daringly he went on, “But your main objective should be taking the city, not preserving your sister’s good name.” A mutter of assent mingled with apprehension went through the men. They were expecting a display of royal anger from Ahmose but it did not come.
“I appreciate your honesty, General,” Ahmose had responde
d equably. “I believe that I promised all of you the liberty of speaking your thoughts freely to me when we first began to craft this army. Besides, Tani herself would see what we were about to do and she would refuse to approach the gate. My mind is made up against this. I have spoken.” Baqet had grimaced ruefully.
“I suppose she would not,” he had put in. “Your sister may now be Queen Tautha and her allegiance misplaced but she is still a Tao, possessed of that same fierce sense of principle that propelled us all towards the recovery of Egypt’s sovereignty. Such singlemindedness may yet wear down Sharuhen’s obstinacy. Stranger things have happened if the will of the gods is bent in our favour.”
Ahmose had thought that their mute disapproval would rankle and prevent him from relaxing as he lay on his cot in the dark. It was the first time any disagreement had come between him and his comrades-in-arms. But he realized with a rush of humility that they not only revered him as their King but also held an affection for him as himself, a man, and he slid into unconsciousness on a tide of gladness.
The morning was not quite as cold as mornings had been since the army left the Horus Road. No frost had formed, the sky was a friendly hue, and the sun shone with a welcome warmth. Word came to Ahmose as he was being dressed that the scroll he had dictated the night before to the Keftian ruler was on its way with a herald and one of the foreign captains, and that the rest, together with Abana in the navy’s flagship, had set out for the Delta. Morale among the troops had risen now that they were settled into permanent positions, and the Medjay, having been prostrated by seasickness on the journey from Het-Uart, had recovered and were out behind the Division of Amun, shooting at targets with many shrieks and spirited laughter.
A siege creates a strange city, Ahmose reflected as he stepped out into the sparkling sunlight. No women or children, tents instead of mud houses and shops, but all else resembles a vast town with its streets, its grain stores, its shrines, its throngs of people, the smells of cooking and the braying of donkeys. There was no sign of Tani or her guard, although her tent flap had been folded back. Ahmose was guiltily relieved. Sending for Khabekhnet and his chariot, he surveyed Sharuhen while he waited. Once again the top of its walls were crowded with sightseers, both men and women, their hair and clothing whipped about by the stiff breeze, their faces indistinguishable but their gestures and the swell of their blended conversations betraying a high excitement. “They could be celebrating a festival judging by their noise,” Ankhmahor commented. He and the Followers were close by, as always. “I would not be surprised to see them rain flowers down upon us, Majesty.”
“Not flowers I think. There is an overtone of arrogance in their babel,” Ahmose remarked. “They know themselves to be inviolate. Well, we shall see if we can shake their attitude of invincibility a little.” Khabekhnet had come up and saluted and Ahmose turned to him. “You will come with me and shout this message at every gate,” he said. “ ‘To the commander of the fort of Sharuhen, greetings from Uatch-Kheperu Ahmose, Son of the Sun, the Horus of Gold, he of the Sedge and the Bee. I, King of Egypt, swear by the Divine Amun that if you deliver to me the Setiu Apepa and all his family, together with the Horus Throne and the Royal Regalia he so deceitfully stole, the inhabitants of your city will be spared. If you refuse, I will put every man, woman and child to the sword. You have until tomorrow morning to make an answer.’ Repeat it to me, Khabekhnet.” The Chief Herald did so. “Good,” Ahmose said briskly. “Ankhmahor, bring the Followers and the royal flag planted outside my tent. Here is Mesehti with my chariot. We will begin with the south gate, seeing that it is the closest.”
He had made sure that Hekayib attired him as sumptuously as possible, in a kilt shot through with gold thread that would catch the sunlight and a starched linen helmet of blue and white, also glittering with gold. The massive pectoral that Kamose had commissioned and that Ahmose had adapted for himself covered his breast, alive with turquoise and jasper and the sacred lapis. Golden ankhs swung from his earlobes. Moonstone and carnelian rings encircled his hennaed fingers and lapis scarabs set in gold adorned his wrists and arms. He mounted the chariot, Khabekhnet beside him, Ankhmahor carrying the flag behind, and at a word Mesehti shook the reins. “Majesty, it is a grave risk to drive too close to the gate,” Ankhmahor warned him as they picked up speed. “You will be within range of their archers.”
“I know,” Ahmose shouted back at him against the rushing wind of their passage. “But it is a chance I must take. If I do not appear with Khabekhnet, the ultimatum will not be taken seriously and anyway, I will seem to be a coward.”
It did not take long to cross the mile of gravelled sand between his camp and the fort. The space was full of soldiers bent on their errands, who paused to reverence the sun-fired figure flashing by them, one jewelled hand raised in acknowledgement, the symbol of his authority fluttering audibly above him. Ahmose noted their respect absently. All his attention was fixed on those massive stone walls drawing nearer and beginning to loom over him.
The motley crowd of people on their summit set up a concerted roar when they saw him come. It did not abate until Mesehti had brought the vehicle to a halt before the tall gate. Ahmose waited, looking up calmly. Gradually an expectant silence fell. Khabekhnet drew in a deep breath. “To the commander of the fort of Sharuhen, greetings from Uatch-Kheperu Ahmose, Son of the Sun,” he began, his well-trained herald’s voice ringing out clearly and forcefully on the limpid morning air. No sound from above disturbed the remainder of the challenge, but the moment the listeners realized that he had finished, a chorus of jeers and insults went up.
“Go home to Egypt, scum of the Nile!”
“Die of boredom, desert rats!”
“Baal-Reshep hates you, murderers!”
At a curt word from Ahmose, Mesehti wheeled the chariot and began to traverse the long curve that would take them to the eastern gate, several miles distant. “Savages and vermin!” Khabekhnet growled. “I hope our soldiers heard their taunts. Then they will be more than willing to slit a few throats when we finally breach these accursed defences.” Such an outburst was unusual for the Chief Herald. Ahmose agreed with him. He himself was seething with rage, but he pressed his lips together and gazed grimly ahead as the huge chunks of stone flitted by.
It was noon before they drew up before the fourth gate, having endured the same taunts and ridicule at the eastern and northern portals. The Followers who had run beside the chariot were panting and pouring sweat. Ahmose himself was damp and tired and Khabekhnet surreptitiously tested the strength of his throat before looking up, squaring his shoulders, and delivering the last call. Behind the chariot the road to the ocean lay white and empty. The sun stood at its zenith, almost blinding Ahmose as he followed the direction of his Chief Herald’s gaze.
He squinted into its glare and saw that here the crest of the wall was naked save for three men who stood limned against the bright sky, listening impassively. They were bearded and hawk-faced, their heads encircled by decorated and tasselled cloth bands, their bodies hidden under thick calf-length tunics bearing many-coloured geometric patterns with fringed necks and hems. All held spears and the one in the centre also had a huge axe resting by his ankle with the haft against his palm.
Khabekhnet ended his delivery. Ahmose waited for some response from those motionless sentinels, some indication that they had heard and understood the message, but they continued to stare down at him with seeming indifference and before he could be made to feel foolish he tapped Mesehti on his moist spine. The weary horses turned away. “I wonder who they were,” Khabekhnet said as the chariot neared Ahmose’s tent and stopped. “The commander’s personal guard perhaps.” He stepped down stiffly and Ahmose followed. His head was pounding after a morning in the sun and wind.
“I have a feeling that the man in the middle was the commander himself,” Ahmose replied. “There was plenty of time for him to be told that we were circling the city with our challenge and he climbed up above the western gate to
hear it for himself. I fear it was an act of hollow bluster on our part, Khabekhnet, but it had to be done.” Khabekhnet set the flag back in its place, bowed, and strode away.
Ahmose dismissed Mesehti and entered his quarters. “My head is splitting,” he said to Akhtoy as he dragged off his kilt and helmet and slumped onto the couch. “Go to my physician and get me poppy.” He lay with eyes squeezed shut and fingers pressed against the pain throbbing in his temples. Outside, Ankhmahor was releasing some of the Followers and giving the rest their instructions for the afternoon, his familiar tones bringing a sense of security to Ahmose as he waited tensely for the relief the drug would bring.
You did this to me, he spoke to Apepa in his mind. It was your hand that guided the assassin who murdered Kamose and left me with this demon in my skull. If it swallows up the rest of my life, I will siege Sharuhen until you give in. Akhtoy returned with Hekayib and together they helped him to sit. Carefully Akhtoy spooned the milky liquid into his mouth and lowered him back onto his pillow then Hekayib bathed him gently. Ahmose began to doze under the body servant’s soothing touch. “Where is Tani?” he asked drowsily.
“Her Majesty has gone to see the Great Green with Heket and her guards,” Akhtoy answered from across the tent.
“She is avoiding me,” Ahmose commented, already almost asleep. He did not hear his steward’s murmured reply.
The Horus Road Page 40