The Oasis

by Pauline Gedge

  “I think you are wrong, Kamose,” his brother objected quietly. “Antagonize the nobles and you offend more than just a handful of men. You also lose the trust of the officers under them. The scene just played out will be repeated with Iasen and the others as we go north. Hor-Aha would understand if you curtailed his power, at least until Egypt is secured.”

  “I will not insult a friend!” Kamose said hotly. He did not know why Ahmose’s words had struck a tinder of anger in him. It was not just the fear that his brother might be right, it was something else, dark and obscure. “They have sat idly in their little palaces, drinking their wine and eating the fat of their nomes, content in their anonymity, perhaps even grateful for it, while Apepa taunted our father and worked to destroy us. But Hor-Aha has risked his life for us many times while they sat by and gave thanks that they were not involved. They are fortunate that I do not censure them harshly instead of soothing them!” Ahmose took his arm and brought him to a halt.

  “What is wrong with you?” he said urgently. “What has caused you to lose your good sense, Kamose? We desperately need the co-operation of the Princes and the goodwill of their men. This you know. Maintain Hor-Aha in his present position if that is your decision, that can be done with a little tact, a little graciousness on our part. But from whence comes this fume of personal acrimony?” Kamose’s shoulders slumped. He squinted up into the deep azure of the sky then smiled wanly at Ahmose.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “Perhaps I am envious of their lack of true concern when my own need for vengeance burns in me without cease. It is all on my head. Ma’at stands or falls with my decisions and I resent such a heavy load. Let us tread the flagstones of Min’s sacred precinct and I will try to leave some of my fury at the god’s feet.”

  With their personal guards in attendance they got into a skiff and were rowed downstream to Kift. The town, larger and busier than Qebt, lay serenely dreaming at the precious hour of the afternoon rest, and the two of them completed their prayers in peace. Returning to Qebt, they found no sign yet of the marching soldiers but the docks were a confusion of dust, milling men and screeching donkeys, in the midst of which Hor-Aha gave them a distant greeting and went on dictating to his harried scribe.

  Kamose and Ahmose retreated to the relative sanity of their cabin. Ahmose fell promptly asleep, sprawled on the cushions, but Kamose brooded in the close heat, his chin on his knees and his unseeing eyes fixed on his brother’s unconscious form. Two and a half divisions, he thought. That’s good. Aabtu is next. I wonder how many men Ankhmahor will have gathered up? He is a more formidable Prince than Intef, touchier with regard to his prerogatives but possessing a keener intellect. I believe that he will not allow any prejudice against Hor-Aha to cloud his cooler judgements.

  Unlike you, a small inner voice spoke up. Did you know that you held within you, like a coiled asp, a contempt for the blue blood of southern Egypt? How many men? he mused determinedly, forcing his mind back to the logistics of the campaign. And how soon must I begin to send scouts ahead? At Badari? Djawati? Tomorrow I will dictate messages for the women. Can I have better rations issued to the troops in the hope that food will be available all along the Nile? Has Hor-Aha given orders that every weapon here at Qebt must be gathered up? His head was beginning to ache. Leaving the cabin to Ahmose’s gentle snores, he asked Akhtoy to bring him beer and he retired to the shade cast by the curving prow of the boat to await word of the remainder of his forces.

  The army shuffled into Qebt two hours after sunset, the tired men casting themselves down beside the river where they were issued their food and drink. Kamose, Ahmose and Intef had just finished their own meal, seated on a deck across which shafts of soft yellow light fell from the lamps fastened to the railings and hanging from the mast, when Hor-Aha came and bowed. At Kamose’s gesture he sank cross-legged onto the planking and accepted a cup of wine from Akhtoy. “They are weary and sore from the march,” he said in answer to Ahmose’s question. “But by morning they will be refreshed. Our Commander of Recruits is already dividing up the men of this nome and partnering them.” He turned to Intef. “He is working with one of your officers, Prince. Thank you for your generosity in this matter.” His attention returned to Kamose. “The Instructor of Retainers is anxious that you should permit at least two days of training for them, Majesty. What shall I tell him?” Kamose sighed.

  “They must glean what knowledge they can as they march tomorrow,” he replied. “If we delay at every stop, we will not reach the Delta by the time Isis cries and the Inundation could spell complete disaster. No, Hor-Aha. I am sorry. We must adhere to our original plan. The Medjay and such soldiers as have found berths on whatever boats Intef has provided will leave for Aabtu at dawn. It is another day’s sailing from here to Quena and three to Aabtu. That means many more hours for those on foot.” He considered. “What if we put in between Quena and Aabtu, and while I go forward to meet Ankhmahor, the soldiers can catch us up, sleep for a night, and there undergo a rudimentary instruction?”

  “It is a nuisance,” Intef put in. “We need rafts, Majesty, but we have none.”

  “We must manage as best we can,” Ahmose said. “Speed is less important at the moment than the chance to organize ourselves well. Your idea is a good one, Kamose.”

  “The army need not be on alert until Djawati,” Hor-Aha pointed out. “Although the whole of Egypt is nominally under Apepa’s control, yet from Qes south he has never bothered to provide the towns with garrisons. From Djawati to Qes it is only about thirty-three miles. North after Qes is Dashlut and there I think we may meet our first real opposition. Let us relax our pace, my lords, so that the men may be somewhat prepared and we may more easily assimilate the men the other Princes will give us.” Kamose nodded his assent, his thoughts drifting to Qes, that accursed place where his father’s army had emerged from the cleft between the rocks only to be outflanked, outmanœuvred and decimated.

  “Is there any indication that Apepa has had wind of our coming?” he asked in general. “Have any heralds been arrested on the river?” Intef shook his head.

  “No. The river traffic has been light. The Delta is still celebrating the Anniversary of Apepa’s Appearing and official business has come to a temporary halt. I expect us to be able to approach Khemmenu before any alarm is given.” Khemmenu, Kamose thought again. Another name of anxiety. What shall I do there? What will Teti do? His mother’s face resolved before his mind’s eye, pallid and implacable, and he lifted his wine to his mouth and drank quickly.

  They cast off at dawn, leaving a drowsy Qebt to sink below the horizon even as Ra rose above it. The soldiers lining the riverbank were shaking and folding their blankets while the army servants moved among them with the morning’s rations. Intef, though given a choice by Kamose, had elected to stay with his peasants so that in the midst of the upheaval they might be reassured. He kept with him most of his officers. “I will catch up with you beyond Quena,” he promised, “and by then my men will no longer need to see me. Would that we had chariots, Majesty!” Chariots, horses, more axes and swords and more boats, Kamose thought. He took his leave of the Prince amicably enough and settled back for the day of enforced but uneasy idleness on the water.

  Two nights and half a day later the Nile bent west before straightening towards Aabtu and here the boats came to a halt, nudging the east bank. Kift and Quena were behind them, and Kamose surveyed the pocket of sandy isolation before him with satisfaction. Here there was an hiatus in the pattern of green fields, palm-lined canals and small villages that habitually rested the eye of the traveller and the desert rushed to fill it, tumbling in dun waves right to the water’s edge. No shade gentled the vista of hot sand and burning sky. No shadow of wandering ox or human moved over it. It would be perfect for a day or two of military drilling. Kamose turned to Hor-Aha, standing silently beside him. “I will leave for Aabtu at once,” he said. “I’ll take the Followers with me. I should arrive there tomorrow evening. When the land troops ar
rive, let them rest briefly and then put them to work. Keep them away from the Medjay, Hor-Aha. The last thing we want is the mindless brawling their ignorance might incite.”

  “You fret needlessly, Majesty,” the General commented. “A few days of battle will serve to show them all, Egyptian and Medjay alike, that they complement one another. I think I will send the Medjay out onto the desert with their officers. They need to feel firm ground beneath their feet for a while. Will you take Prince Ahmose with you?” Kamose hesitated, then nodded, remembering his brother’s surprising interjection that had swayed Intef at Qebt, and it came to him that he did not know Ahmose well at all. The young man with the sunny disposition, in love with hunting and swimming and the simple delights of family life, was maturing mysteriously. Turning from the arid view, Kamose began to give his orders.

  Aabtu lay on the west bank, and as his craft tacked towards the wide watersteps of the town, Kamose was at first alarmed to see crowds of men milling about in the dusty red air of sunset. His thoughts flew north. Apepa had learned of his intent. These were Setiu soldiers and he and Ahmose would be slaughtered at once. But Ahmose said, “This is a fine sight, Kamose. It looks as though Ankhmahor has assembled an even greater force on our behalf than Intef,” and Kamose came to himself with a shaky laugh.

  “Thank the gods,” he managed. “I was afraid …” Ahmose signalled and the ramp was run out.

  “Not yet,” he said quietly as together they walked onto the bank with the Followers moving to surround them. “We have a little time yet.” A pool of silence began to spread out around them as the throng recognized the symbols lying on Kamose’s chest. Many went to their knees and many more bowed respectfully. “Aabtu is not quite as provincial as Kift and Qebt,” Ahmose went on. “After all, the head of Osiris is buried here and many pilgrims come to the temple and to see the holy dramas enacted every year. Khentiamentiu is worshipped here also. It is a sacred place.” They had left the river behind and were striding beside the canal leading to Osiris’s temple and Ankhmahor’s dwelling beside it. Beyond the protecting circle of their bodyguard the women and children of the town ran to see them and then hung back shyly. Kamose saw an official pushing his way towards them. At a word from him the Followers let the man through. He bowed profoundly.

  “My lord instructed me to watch for your arrival, Majesty,” he explained. “We have been in readiness for you for a week now. My lord has just returned to his house from the temple. With your permission I will tell him that you are here.”

  “I would like to pay my respects to Osiris before meeting the Prince,” Kamose replied. “Let him know that I will see him in an hour. There will be no time in the morning,” he added to Ahmose as the man bowed again and withdrew. “The sanctuary should still be open.”

  The High Priest received them gravely. The sanctuary was indeed open and he was about to intone the evening prayers before the god was shut away until the morning. Kamose and Ahmose joined him in the prostrations and Kamose took the few extra steps that led him to the small shrine his ancestor Mentuhotep-neb-hapet-Ra had erected to the glory of the god. With his face pressed to the stone floor, Kamose prayed less to Egypt’s most revered deity than to the King whose blood ran in Kamose’s own veins and who had built the old palace in the days of Weset’s former eminence. His mortuary temple lay hard up against the Cliff of Gurn on the west bank opposite Weset, yet another place where the dreams of the living mingled with the unquiet promptings of the dead. Kamose begged him for his aid, and it seemed to him that there in the deepening gloom, amid the scent of wilting flowers and stale incense, his father’s ka came close to him and his royal ancestor’s presence hovered briefly, bringing with it a temporary peace.

  The two men emerged into the last of the twilight, but the strange sadness of the hour was dissipating under the bright force of cooking fires and flaring torches. The odour of roasting meat filled the air. “I’m hungry,” Ahmose said. “I hope the Prince sets a good table.” The man who had approached them before had been waiting. Detaching himself from the encroaching shadows of Osiris’s outer court, he bowed and bade them follow him.

  It was not far to Ankhmahor’s estate. The Prince’s garden glowed in the light of many lamps and through their radiance Ankhmahor himself came briskly to greet them, smiling and bowing. “Majesty, Highness, I am happy to see you,” he said. “The bath house is ready if you wish to refresh yourselves and my steward tells me that a meal will appear shortly. Tell me your pleasure.” There was none of Intef’s caution in this Prince’s demeanour, and not so much deference either, Kamose reflected as he thanked Ankhmahor and asked to be ushered to the bath house. Ankhmahor’s domain spoke of more wealth than that of the governor of the Herui nome and it was obvious that the proprieties would be observed. No business, how-ever pressing, would be discussed until bellies had been filled. Such adherence to time-honoured conventions was reassuring, Kamose’s thoughts ran on, as the moist, scented air of the bath house surrounded him and servants rushed to disrobe him and Ahmose. But it also spoke of pride and an awareness of high lineage. Oh must you pick apart everything? he scolded himself as he mounted the bathing slab and closed his eyes under the gush of hot water a servant was cascading over him. Accept what is, and do not see traps and dangers where there are none. The real ones are threatening enough.

  Later, scrubbed, shaved and oiled, they were bowed into a reception hall redolent with the mingled odours of food, flowers and perfume, and seated before individual tables upon whose gleaming surfaces spring flowers quivered. Ankhmahor’s fam-ily, his wife, two sons and three daughters, came to offer their obeisances. They were handsome people, slender and dark-eyed, their features alike under the kohl and henna, their jewellery not so much an adornment as a part of what they were, aristocrats to their core. Kamose, relaxing among his own kind, found no lack of general conversation, while Ahmose exchanged views on hunting with Ankhmahor’s sons and expressed his regret that he would not be able to take advantage of Aabtu’s abundance of ducks and wild game, much of which had found its way, transformed and delectable, onto the succession of dishes placed before him.

  Ankhmahor is brave to put all this in jeopardy, Kamose thought. For us it is a matter of survival or destruction, but he could go on enjoying this security for ever. As though the Prince had read his musings, he looked across at Kamose and smiled. “It is perhaps an illusion, is it not, Majesty?” he said. “My Abetch nome is rich and I live well. But always there is the shadow of the future, because I refuse to leave it in the hands of a minor noble and attend Apepa at court in the Delta. When Apepa passed through Aabtu on his way to pass judgement upon your House, he stopped here for a day and a night. I entertained him well, but I do not think he was pleased.” He paused to drink, his long throat working delicately against the golden filigreed necklaces he wore. “His eyes missed nothing. The abundant fertility of my arouras in granaries and storehouses, the opulence of my estate, the beauty and grace of my family, and perhaps above all, the contentment of my peasants and servants. I gave him no cause for complaint and yet I sensed distrust in him.” Ankhmahor shrugged. “I think without your war I might have looked forward to the same slowly intensifying harassments that drove your father to his desperate measures.”

  “Apepa does not like to be reminded of his foreign roots,” Kamose answered slowly. “He likes to keep the native lords of Egypt around him in the Delta, for there they may be watched and also there they may be gradually corrupted by Setiu gods and Setiu ways.” He glanced at Ankhmahor. “But outside the Delta the hereditary lords do not forget so easily that sheep herders are an abomination to gods and men, nor can they be subtly persuaded to relinquish their hold on the purity of their blood and their memories of true Ma’at. The more hospitable and respectful you were, Ankhmahor, the more you rubbed salt in the wound of his foreignness. Yet you could avert his suspicious eye by sending one of your sons north.” Ankhmahor laughed and rose. At once the harpist ceased playing and the servants dr
ew back.

  “It would be like opening a wound in my own body and leaving it to fester, Majesty,” he said frankly. “No son of mine will be subjected to such corruption as long as I live. My elder son, Harkhuf, will come with us and fight beside me. Now, if Your Majesty pleases, we will retire to the pool and discuss our business.”

  “I think I will do a little night fishing with these sons of yours, Ankhmahor,” Ahmose said as he scrambled to his feet. He met Kamose’s eye. You do not need me, was the message Kamose read. This Prince will not trouble us.

  “Very well,” Kamose said aloud. “But we must leave here at dawn, Ahmose.”

  “I need this,” his brother said simply, and Kamose turned away and followed his host out between the pillars of the hall and into the dim garden.

  Cushions had been placed on the verge of the fishpond. A flagon of wine stood ready on the grass, together with fly whisks and cloaks, all illuminated in the flickering orange glow of the single torch that fluttered in the intermittent, lazy gusts of air. Kamose lowered himself to the ground and crossed his legs, shaking his head at the cloak Ankhmahor offered him but accepting a whisk and a brimming cup of wine. A few mosquitoes hummed nearby, the sound strident and yet somehow reassuring, a natural component of the sweet Egyptian night. Crickets rasped out their tuneless song. An unseen frog leaped into the pool with a plop, sending slow ripples across the dark surface and rocking the lotus pads resting there.

  Ankhmahor sank down beside Kamose with a grunt, and for a moment he glanced across the fragrant serenity of his domain before his gaze returned to his guest. “I do not like your General Hor-Aha,” he said at last. “I think that his imperturbability comes from an overconfident estimation of his importance to you and an overweening belief in his invincibility as a military strategist. Thus he is not predictable, Majesty. Such excesses usually have their roots in a secret fear of failure. He may make a wrong decision and be unable to take the advice of others in order to change it.”