“For Apepa, not for us,” he objected firmly. “The usurper took to himself the title of Kings, Mighty Bull of Ma’at, and in slaying a bull today we would have been not only binding Amun to our aid but also making the first move in destroying the Setiu’s power. However, it is dying of its own accord. There is no need to slit its throat here on the watersteps. The omen is good, Aahmes-nefertari.”
“Nevertheless,” Tetisheri broke in tartly, “you must make sure that the soldiers do not hear about it, Kamose. They are too simple to fathom such a sophisticated reason for what they will see as a future disaster. I will inspect the remains of this beast myself when you have gone, and order it burned so that any negative influence its death may have will not linger. Do not forget the hawk, Aahmes-nefertari, and try not to start and tremble at every sign or you will end up seeing portents in the lees of your wine and calamities in the dust whorls under your couch.” The harshness of her speech was belied by the rare smile that lit her creased face.
“You all believe that I cannot be strong,” the girl said, “but you err. I do not forget the hawk, Grandmother. My husband will be King one day and I shall be Queen. It is for Kamose that I start and tremble, not for Ahmose or for myself, and he knows this. I love him. How could I not then be afraid, and watch for the omens that will tell of victory or defeat? I only say aloud what you all think in your hearts.” She turned to Kamose, her chin high.
“I am not a child, dear brother,” she said defiantly. “Prove the omen wrong. Wield the sacred power of a King before which all omens of doom melt into nothing.” He could not answer either the force of her words or the agony in her face. Bending, he kissed her and turned to his mother. Aahotep was pale under her paint.
“I am a daughter of the moon,” she said in a low voice, “and my roots are in Khemennu, the city of Thoth. Teti is my kinsman. You know this, Kamose. If you are wondering what you will do there, if you are afraid of meting out justice because Teti’s blood is also mine, do not worry. If the city proves recalcitrant, purge it. If Teti fights you, slaughter him. He corrupted Si-Amun on behalf of his master, Apepa, and deserves to die. But before you move against either, sacrifice to Thoth.” A tiny, bitter smile twisted her features. “I do not doubt that the god of my youth waits eagerly for the cleansing your sword will bring. Yet I beg you to show mercy to Ramose if you can, for Tani’s sake. He has shown himself loyal to our cause while still attempting to remain obedient to Teti. Such a division within himself must surely have brought him much grief. It was not in his power to prevent Apepa from promising our nome to his father once this family was scattered.” The smile became frozen as she tried to control herself. “Word of your insurrection is bound to reach the Delta before long. What it will mean to Tani, imprisoned there as a hostage, we dare not think. But we must hope that Apepa is not fool enough to execute her and that Ramose still loves her and will try to save her if his life is spared.”
“I will do everything possible to reason with Teti for your sake,” Kamose replied, a lump in his throat. “Yet we both know he cannot be trusted. If I must kill him, then it will be as a last resort. As for Ramose, his testing in this matter is his own affair, but I shrink from any necessity to destroy him. His choice will be hard.”
“Thank you, my son.” She swung away from him, reaching for her grandson, lifting him into her embrace and holding him tightly, and Kamose felt his grandmother’s grip go around his wrist. The old lady’s fingers were like pincers.
“You and I understand one another very well,” she rasped. “No soft words of parting will disguise the fact that you are going north to bathe this country in blood. Your arm will grow tired and your ka will sicken. Take care that it does not die. You have my blessing, Kamose Tao, King and God. I love you.” Yes, he thought as her shrewd, clear gaze met his own. I am your son in spirit, Tetisheri. I share the pride and ruthlessness that stiffen your spine and keep your own blood hot in your veins. He merely nodded at her and she stepped back, satisfied.
There was a stir and then a sudden lull in the din around them as the High Priest came striding into view. The soldiers on the path gave way for him and his acolytes, bowing respectfully before closing in expectantly behind him. Amunmose was clad in his full regalia. The leopard skin of his sacerdotal office lay across his white-clad shoulder and the gold-tipped staff was in his hand. The young priests flanking him held lighted censers and the acrid odour of myrrh suddenly filled the nostrils of the family as they paid him their reverence. Ahmose, who had remained silent throughout but had stood close to his sister-wife, his white-booted feet apart and his eyes grave under the rim of his own helmet, now whispered to Kamose, “He has brought neither blood nor milk to mingle under our feet as we go.”
“It is correct,” Kamose whispered back. “The bull died and we must not depart with the milk of welcoming hospitality sticking to the soles of our sandals. We need no more than the protecting desire of Amun.”
“Kamose, I am afraid,” Ahmose muttered. “So much planning and preparing and talking and it all seemed unreal. But the time has come. Today, this morning, under the glare of the sun, we go forth to wrench Egypt from the grasp of foreigners who have occupied us for hentis and thus far I am unable to pull myself out of the dream. I should be hunting in the marshes and working up an appetite for the breaking of my fast, not dressed as a commander and surrounded by an army. Are we mad?”
“If we are, it is the madness of those who answer the call of destiny,” Kamose replied under cover of the High Priest’s opening prayers. “Sometimes it is not a call, Ahmose. Sometimes it is a harsh imperative that we disregard at our peril. I see us cornered in that hard place and it is no use wishing that we had been born into a safer, less turbulent age. We must justify ourselves before the gods here, now, on this day, in this month. I hate it as much as you.”
“Will we be remembered as the saviours of Egypt or will we be defeated and vanish into the obscurity of future ages?” Ahmose murmured, more to himself than to his brother, and they straightened together from their obeisance as Amunmose turned to them, holding out his staff and beginning the chants of blessing and victory. On the ships, on the packed ground, the soldiers knelt quietly while in the east Ra, having freed himself from the clutches of the horizon, poured his golden light over the vast assembly and high above, a dark speck against his molten glory, a hawk balanced on the wind of his breath and watched them.
When the ceremony was over, Kamose thanked the High Priest, reminded him to petition Amun every day on behalf of the army, kissed the members of his family, and with a last look at his house lying sun-drenched and peaceful beyond the vine trellises and the palms he turned to the ramp of his ship, Ahmose behind him. But before he could ascend it, something cold was pressed against his thigh. Looking down, he met Behek’s eager gaze. The dog had thrust itself past Ahmose and was waiting for permission to lope ahead onto the deck. With a pang of regret Kamose squatted, taking the great, soft head in his hands and caressing the warm ears. Since Seqenenra’s death Behek had transferred all his simple affection onto Kamose, padding after him wherever he went and sleeping at the end of the passage to the men’s apartments where Kamose had his quarters. Kamose had understood, and indeed had shared, the animal’s loneliness, and a mutual devotion had sprung up between them. Now he met the trust in Behek’s brown eyes with a gentle denial. “You cannot come, my friend,” he said sadly. “You must stay here and guard the rest of the family. The confines of a boat are not for you.” Kissing the dog’s broad forehead, he rose and pointed to the watersteps. “Go home, Behek,” he ordered, and after a moment’s hesitation Behek obeyed dejectedly, his tail dragging. Kamose gained the deck, followed by his brother. His officers bowed and at his gesture Hor-Aha shouted the order to bring in the ramp and cast off. Freed from its tether the craft swung ponderously away from the watersteps. The helmsman grasped the helm in both hands. Kamose and Ahmose moved to stand in the stern, the reeds waist high before them. The other boats had alre
ady followed their lead and all were manoeuvring into the middle of the river, their prows pointed north.
Ahmose looked up and pointed, and Kamose, following his gaze, saw the strengthening morning breeze lift the flag fastened to the mast and unfurl it with a crack, revealing the colours of royal Egypt, blue and white. Startled, Kamose turned an enquiring eye on his brother. Ahmose shrugged smiling. “Neither of us gave any thought to such a minor detail,” he said. “I am willing to wager that this is Grandmother’s work.” Kamose’s eyes slid to the bank. Already the gap between the deck where he stood and the warm stone where his family huddled had grown wider, filled by the glittering heave of water. They looked so small standing there, so defenceless and vulnerable, and his heart contracted in pity for them, for himself, for the country he was about to plunge into war.
Then he saw Tetisheri step away from the others and raise a clenched fist. Sunlight glinted on her silver bracelets as they slid down her arm and the wind caught her linens and pressed them against her wiry body. The gesture exuded such defiance and arrogance that the feeling of pity fled. Raising both his own fists in response, Kamose began to laugh, and his home slid away behind him and was lost to view.
“I’m hungry,” he said to Ahmose. “Let’s go into the cabin and eat. It will be an easy journey to Qebt, and we will be sailing through our own nome for most of the way. Hor-Aha! Join us!” It has begun, he thought with something close to exultation. The die is cast. Pulling up the curtain and fastening it open as he entered, he flung himself down on the cushions within the cabin. Akhtoy snapped his fingers at the cook’s servant waiting to tell his masters what could be offered. Ahmose was fingering the throwing stick hanging from his belt as he crossed his bare legs and lowered himself beside his brother.
“I had to bring it,” he said apologetically at Kamose’s surprised glance. “The opportunity for hunting may arise, you never know. But of course it will not be the same without Turi.”
“No, it won’t,” Kamose responded. “You and Turi have fished and hunted together since you were boys. I hope you have forgiven me for sending him and his family south out of harm’s way. His father’s peculiar skill as a mason specializing in the design and construction of stone forts is rare these days and might be useful to me later on. Such expertise has not been in demand for many hentis, although the knowledge continued to be passed down through Turi’s forebears.” Ahmose nodded sagely.
“Turi’s father has been quite content building watersteps,” he assured Kamose. “He has no respect for the Setiu who scorn stone and build their garrison defences out of mud. They do not even have an interest in erecting stone monuments. They are very uncivilized under their veneer of grandeur.”
“All the same,” Kamose said grimly, “I am told that the walls of the Setiu forts are very high and as unyielding as rock. We shall see. Is there fresh bread?” he asked the patient servant. “And a little cheese? Good. Let us eat.”
The flotilla put into Qebt in the early afternoon, and within minutes of its arrival Prince Intef appeared, his officials ranked behind him. Kamose answered his obeisance courteously, hiding the tide of relief that swept over him as Intef bade him come to his house for refreshments. He had been secretly worried that the Princes who had journeyed to Weset at his summons might have been wafted home again on a tide of cautious enthusiasm that would rapidly dissipate in hours of solitary reflection beside their own fishponds, but here was one governor at least who had fulfilled his lord’s request.
After greeting Intef’s wife and family and drinking a cup of the wine politely offered to him in the Prince’s cool reception hall, Kamose sent for his Scribe of Recruits and Scribe of Assemblage and for Hor-Aha, and he, Ahmose and Intef retired to the latter’s office to conduct their business. “The division on foot will not catch up to us until late tonight,” he said to Intef as they settled themselves around his desk. “Once your additions are tallied, Intef, I want to take a skiff to Kift and worship Min in the temple there. It is only seven miles farther downstream and Min is, of course, a type of Amun and must receive my homage. Have you delegated your authority here? Are you ready to sail with us?” Intef inclined his head.
“As best I can, Majesty,” he replied. “This nome will be in the capable hands of my assistant governor at Kift. The sowing has begun. It will be completed by the women.” He shifted in his seat. “There has been considerable confusion among the conscripts I have managed to gather,” he went on frankly. “It has been very difficult to try to explain to them why they must leave their homes and march against men whom they have regarded as their fellow Egyptians for a long time. Many have been stubborn and my officers have been forced to almost drag them to the river. There has been little time to train them either. You will find them an undisciplined rabble.”
“I will distribute them among the men from Weset,” Hor-Aha answered him, although Intef’s eyes were apologetically on Kamose. “They will quickly learn both discipline and the reasons for it, if they are scattered thus.” There was a small, uncomfortable silence. Intef’s regard swung to the Medjay and his glance became neutral.
“They may not take well to orders from officers that do not come from the Herui nome,” he remarked carefully, and Kamose spoke swiftly into the moment of veiled hostility.
“I am asking a great deal from your peasants as well as from your loyal officers, Intef,” he said soothingly. “Your authority will not be usurped. Your commanders will be answerable to you and to no one else, and you will have the dispersal of your troops in battle, but under my direction. Sometimes that direction will come through the mouth of the Prince and General Hor-Aha. I ask your pardon for reminding you that neither you nor your officers, let alone your peasants, have seen any military action for many years, while this General has.”
“But the chasing of Kushite tribesmen in that accursed desert land must surely be a far cry from campaigns against civilized cities,” Intef retorted coldly, and Kamose sighed inwardly. I was afraid of this, he thought to himself sourly. Are we to wade through these same pettinesses with Iasen and Ankhmahor and the others before we can bully Egyptians into a unified army? Hor-Aha had folded his arms and was leaning back, his head on one side.
“Let us attempt to be honest with one another, Prince,” he said calmly. “You do not like me and are loath to trust me. I am a black man and a foreigner. By what right do I command my lord’s Egyptians? By what right do I bear the title recently bestowed upon me? But what you think of me is not important. Think only that in denigrating me you show distrust in your King’s judgement, for he has seen fit to employ me as General and elevate me to the nobility. He has done this because I am seasoned in those desert skirmishes of which you know nothing, and I have a gift for controlling common men. I will gladly place myself under your command if you are able to demonstrate superior talents in the field and I will relinquish my own authority if my lord desires it. Until then, is it not enough that we fight in a cause that has both our hearts? Can we not work as brothers?” And that is a word Intef will find hard to swallow as he looks at Hor-Aha with his shining black skin and his sooty eyes, Kamose thought again. Yet Hor-Aha was clever to form his comments as questions. Intef must answer.
But before he could, Ahmose broke in. He had been listening restlessly, shifting his weight on his chair and drumming his fingers noiselessly on the surface of the desk. Now he planted both feet on the floor and leaned forward. “Consider it thus, Intef,” he said conversationally. “If we win through to Het-Uart, this Medjay will have performed a service for every noble in Egypt. If, the gods forbid, we lose, then you can blame him for everything because he devised the strategy for Kamose and me. Either way, the yoke of responsibility is on his shoulders. Do you really want it on yours?” This time the silence held stunned disbelief. Intef fixed Ahmose with a stony scrutiny and Kamose almost held his breath. You have gone too far, he said urgently in his mind to his brother. Are you really so simple, dear Ahmose, or do you understand bett
er than I the uses of apparent guilelessness? Hor-Aha was relaxed, his expression unreadable.
All at once Intef burst out laughing. “You are right, Prince,” he chuckled, “and I am being stiff-necked and foolish. It is a sensible decision to place the peasants of this nome together with yours, and if you or Your Majesty,” here he bowed to Kamose, “had suggested it, I would have applauded such wisdom. But I would like to command them in any pitched battle Apepa may render necessary.”
“Agreed.” Kamose nodded. Ahmose had gone back to his absent fidgeting and Hor-Aha obviously knew better than to smile. His expression remained non-committal. “How many men have you gathered?” Kamose asked Intef.
“Between Qebt, Kift and the arouras of the nome, twenty-two hundred,” Intef answered promptly. “Also I have had the granaries opened for the Scribe of Assemblage but I beg you, Majesty, to take no more than is needed. There must be an Egypt left when all this is over.” At that moment Intef’s steward interrupted them to announce both scribes and Kamose and Ahmose rose to leave. “I will go on now to the temple at Kift,” Kamose said. “Hor-Aha, see to the distribution of Intef’s men and give Paheri leave to requisition whatever boats are available. The more troops can sail, the faster we may move.”
“That could have become a wounding confrontation,” Ahmose remarked as the two men left the house and strode out into the blinding afternoon sunshine. “Perhaps it would be wise to restrict the arena of Hor-Aha’s authority to the Medjay alone.”
“I have no intention of jeopardizing our success in order to pander to the self-importance of a petty Prince!” Kamose snapped back. “Hor-Aha has proved himself time and again as both friend and loyal soldier to our family and thus to Egypt herself. He will remain Supreme Commander under me, Ahmose, and the nobles must get used to that.”
The Oasis Page 2