The Oasis

by Pauline Gedge

  “Yet I am Commander-in-Chief and I am not so much in his thrall that I would not make such a change if it became necessary,” Kamose objected. He knew that the Prince’s words did not come from the murky well of a prejudice against Hor-Aha’s foreignness and he had no wish to thank Ankhmahor for the virtue. To do so would have implied that he had expected less from a member of Egypt’s oldest aristocracy. “Besides, Ankhmahor, our strategy will be plotted together; I, the Princes and the General working as one. I understand the Princes’ fear that I owe this man a debt that may weaken my ability to lead with clearsightedness. It is true that I owe him a great deal, but Hor-Aha knows his place. He will not step outside it.”

  “I hope you are right.” Ankhmahor pulled a cushion under him and reclined, his elbow in its soft depths. He sipped his wine. “There was some grumbling on the part of the others on our way north from the council,” he said frankly. “I grumbled myself. But let this man prove his worth to us as he has done to you and we will gladly accept his authority in the field.”

  “I do not anticipate the need for any sophisticated battle plans until we reach the Delta,” Kamose said. “It is a matter of sailing from town to town, overcoming any resistance, weeding out any Setiu, and making sure that the mayors and governors we leave behind are fully loyal to us. I think our first problem will come at Dashlut.” Ankhmahor nodded.

  “Of that I have no doubt, but it is Khemmenu that will try the mastery of the Medjay archers and the obedience of the soldiers. Teti does not love you, Majesty, in spite of his ties with your mother, and of course there is the Setiu garrison a mere nine miles downstream from the city.”

  “A good testing place,” Kamose agreed. “Tell me, Prince, how many men have you gathered here? The number seems large.”

  “It is.” Ankhmahor sat straight. There was a pardonable pride in his movement and in his words. “I have eighteen hundred for you from my own nome and a further eight hundred gleaned from Quena. Two hundred of them are volunteers. That warms my heart. I have also expropriated thirty craft of various kinds, everything from fishing skiffs to a raft for the transportation of granite from Swenet. It was on its way to Het-Uart, heavy with a piece of undressed stone to be used to construct a new statue of Apepa in honour of his forthcoming Jubilee, I believe, when the load shifted and the raft was damaged. Another raft was sent for from Nekheb and the damaged one left here. I have had it repaired.”

  “Thank you,” Kamose said evenly. “I intend to take the professional soldiers from each nome and group them together as Shock Troops. I would like you to command them.” Ankhmahor, his cup halfway to his mouth, paused. The cup was lowered.

  “Your Majesty is generous,” he said in a low voice. “I am humbled at your trust. But what of Prince Ahmose? Should he not be their commander?”

  Kamose gripped his knees. He sighed, looking up at the roof of white stars blazing in their black setting and then closing his eyes. Ahmose should not be placed with men who bear the brunt of any attack, he wanted to say. Ahmose is still in many ways a sunny youth, uncomplicated and innocent, given to flashes of surprising maturity, it is true, but not yet ready to be broken by the harshness and brutality of war. He has killed, but the killing was still somehow a part of that dream in which he lives. It is not time yet for him to awaken. “My brother will be the last surviving male of the House of Tao if I die,” he said instead. “Si-Amun left a son but he is still a baby, and Egypt will need a man to continue the fight. Ahmose will not be cossetted into cowardice, but neither do I want him exposed to danger unnecessarily.” He stared unseeingly at his fingers that now curled into fists. “My Grandfather Osiris Senakhtenra Glorified left a son and three grandsons. Now only two of us remain.”

  “Your reasoning is understandable,” Ankhmahor commented. “The gamble you take is terrible, Majesty. We Princes will only lose our lands and our lives if you are defeated, but the House of Tao will lose divinity.” Kamose glanced at him sharply but read only sympathy under the shadows playing across his face.

  “Then let us refuse to consider any such thing.” Kamose forced his fingers apart and relaxed, smiling at the man. “Tell me what weapons you have, Ankhmahor, and then I must sleep before an early start in the morning.”

  They talked desultorily for a further hour while the torch burned low and the wine jug was emptied. Kamose decided to leave Aabtu’s men where they were, to be gathered into the rest of the army as it passed through. Ankhmahor’s store of weapons, though more comprehensive than that of Intef, was still disappointing. Only the Setiu garrisons of the north would yield what Kamose needed, and only the Medjay archers could so far be relied upon to get it for him.

  He thanked the Prince for his hospitality and returned to his skiff through the tranquil night. Falling into an exhausted slumber, he did not hear Ahmose come aboard in the early hours of the morning and did not wake until he felt the craft tremble under him as it left its mooring and the rowers fought to turn it against the current. “I knew Ankhmahor would be more than acquiescent,” Ahmose said as, over their meal of freshly grilled fish, salad and bread, Kamose related to him the conversation by the pool. “He has courage and besides, as a scion of one of our most ancient families he can be assured of an important post when you set up your court at Weset. This fish is good, is it not?” He gestured with his knife on the point of which a piece steamed. “I thoroughly enjoyed catching it and I gave the others to Ankhmahor’s younger son for the family to eat. He is intelligent, that boy. He wanted to know all about Tani and what you will do with her when you have liberated Het-Uart.” He grinned happily across at Kamose’s bewildered frown. “Don’t worry,” he went on with his mouth full. “I explained about Ramose and added that the best way to further one’s ambitions in these unpredictable times was on the field of battle. Was Ankhmahor able to furnish us with more than a few blunt swords and a handful of rakes, Kamose?” I love you but I do not know what to make of you, Kamose thought fondly as his brother chattered on. Is your artlessness a studied pose to hide a swiftly building complexity beneath or are you truly guileless? Well, I would trust you with my life as I would trust no other. You are a favourite of the gods and with that I must be content.

  They rejoined the army on the evening of the third day and received Hor-Aha’s report as soon as they disembarked. The divisions were taking shape, but were still a long way from being the tight fighting units Hor-Aha and Intef envisioned. The peasants’ response to commands was slow but increasingly willing. Pride in their cohesiveness was beginning to sprout and the grumbling had diminished. For three days they had drilled and feinted at imaginary enemies. “But no one has told them yet that as well as Setiu those enemies will include their fellow Egyptians,” Hor-Aha pointed out as he squatted before Kamose under the shadow of one of the reed boats. “By the time that necessity arises, they must be trained to follow orders without thought. It is a hard lesson to learn.” Kamose did not comment.

  “There are messages from the Princes of Badari and Djawati,” Intef said. “They have finished with the conscription and wish to know when you will arrive. Mesehti reports that the miles below Djawati are quiet. Qes and Dashlut are unaware of us so far.”

  “Send a runner and a skiff to Badari and Djawati,” Kamose ordered Hor-Aha. “Tell them we left here in the morning, for that is what we will do. Aabtu is organized and ready.”

  “It is the first day of Pakhons tomorrow,” Ahmose remarked, and at that they all fell silent. Shemu had begun, the hottest time of the year, when the crops ripened towards the harvest and then Egypt waited breathlessly for the Inundation. Kamose rose abruptly.

  “Bring Ipi to me,” he said. “I want to dictate a scroll to everyone at Weset.” He was seized with an overwhelming need to speak to his women, to be strengthened by his grandmother and reassured by his mother, to touch the roots from which he had sprung. “I will be in the cabin,” he added over his shoulder as he walked towards the ramp. “Pass the word to the officers that we march on
in a few hours, General.”

  Once behind the privacy of the cabin’s drapery he exhaled, a long gust of frustration and, undoing his sandals, he pulled them off and tossed them beside him. The town of Qes was well back from the river, huddled against the cliffs. Could they perhaps creep past it unnoticed during the night and so not have to expend the energy needed to deal with it before the undoubted hostility of Dashlut? Ipi knocked politely on the lintel of the cabin door and Kamose bade him enter. He did so, greeting his lord and preparing his palette and brushes to receive the dictation. Kamose, watching the scribe’s calm face and routine motions, felt himself loosen.

  I address my home also, he thought. The vines clinging to the trellises and heavy with dusty grapes, the pool with its scattering of crisp sycamore leaves, the warm curves of the entrance pillars against which I liked to brush my hand before walking into the dim coolness of the reception hall, all of you harken to my voice and remember me, for I love you, and surely the better part of me lingers there, my breath going forth to mingle with the rustle of warm wind in your grasses at morning and my shadow blending with your own as Ra descends behind the western cliffs. He opened his mouth and began to speak.

  2

  THREE HOURS AFTER SUNSET on the eighth day, the fleet was easing quietly past the beaten track that ran west from the river to the invisible town of Qes, its ranks now swelled by a motley collection of craft that held all the professional soldiers the Princes could provide. Behind Kamose came Ankhmahor and two hundred Shock Troops on the raft that had once been used to ferry granite, and behind them the Medjay in their reed boats. The remainder of the flotilla beat ponderously after. Prince Makhu of Akhmin had gathered together four hundred conscripts and Prince Iasen of Badari a further eight hundred. Mesehti of Djawati had driven an astounding three thousand to the river so that the army now numbered almost four divisions, the bulk of which marched three days behind the ships in a slow-moving snake whose tail could not be seen by the leading officers.

  In order to preserve his secrecy for as long as possible, Kamose had elected not to wait for them until the Medjay had secured Dashlut. They were in many ways a nuisance, poorly armed or weaponless, barely disciplined and unwieldy, but he knew that they would come into their own in the heavily populated Delta where arrows shot from the river would no longer be enough. By then, if the gods willed it, the richer settlements would have been plundered of their swords and bows and he could leave his boat and march at the head of men armed and ready for assault.

  His conversations with the Princes of Akhmin, Badari and Djawati as he was reunited with each one had followed much the same pattern as his encounters with Intef and to a lesser degree, Ankhmahor. They had greeted him with reverence and shown their willingness to fulfil their pledges of aid and loyalty, but they clearly did not like the prospect of sharing their responsibilities with, or worse, taking orders from, a black Wawat tribesman. Each agreed to reserve judgement. Each insinuated politely and indirectly that they were risking a great deal in supporting Kamose’s claim to the Horus Throne while the foreigner faced nothing more than a swift trek through the desert back to where he clearly belonged if they failed.

  In vain, and with a mounting impatience that threatened to become rage, Kamose recounted Hor-Aha’s faithfulness to Seqenenra, his return to Weset with Apepa’s departure when he might have been wiser to stay safely in Wawat, the sealing of his commitment to the House of Tao when he accepted Egyptian citizenship and a title. “He will stay with us until he has amassed enough plunder and then he will disappear,” Iasen had said bluntly, before returning to the polite to-ing and fro-ing in which he and Kamose were engaged. “Foreigners are all the same and the barbarians of Wawat are the worst of all.” Ahmose had clutched his brother’s arm to prevent Kamose from an outburst of frustrated temper, and Kamose had clenched his teeth and made some pacifying reply. He understood their attitude. Egypt was an occupied nation. Foreigners held the power. Setiu or from Wawat, they were all suspect in the eyes of these men.

  Hor-Aha himself did not seem much affected by the slights. “I will prove them all wrong,” was his response. “Give them time, Majesty. Insults cannot harm a man with confidence in himself and his own abilities.” Kamose thought his imperturbability in the face of such insults unnatural but quashed the niggle of doubt regarding his General by reminding himself that Hor-Aha had been spawned by a very different culture, one where perhaps it was not wise to rise to every bait. Iasen had been entirely correct in his assessment of the barbaric temperament. The men of Wawat were primitive in their beliefs and behaviour, their tribal vendettas and the petty squabbling of their chieftains over trifles, but Hor-Aha was different. He could see farther than his fellows. He had been born with the qualities of a leader. His Medjay obeyed him without question in their dumb, pagan way, and their coolness under fire, their awesome skill with the bow, their facility for going without food or water for long periods, spoke of a way of life unknown to the peasants who sweated and stumbled towards the north under the lash of their officers’ tongues and dreamed of their peaceful little hovels and the comfort of their tiny arouras.

  Well, to Set with them, Kamose thought sourly as he stood beside Ahmose in the prow of his boat, the darkness of night around him and the darkness of water below. The sound of the muffled oars was an almost imperceptible creaking and the occasional whispers of captain to helmsman struck somehow sinister to Kamose’s straining ears. He glanced behind him to where the stern reared black against the scarcely lighter background of the sky but could not see beyond it to Ankhmahor’s raft or Hor-Aha’s boat beyond that. Hor-Aha is my right hand, and they will have to accept him as such. What would they say if they knew that at the first opportunity I intend to have my Egyptian bowmen trained by the Medjay and then placed under Medjay officers as free-wheeling units to harry the enemy’s flanks?

  On his left the shrouded bank slid past, the end of the path along which the dwellers at Qes led their oxen and donkeys to drink showing briefly as a patch of grey. Ahmose’s head also turned towards it and Kamose knew that his brother’s thoughts were suddenly entangled in the past, even as his were. At the farther end of that ribbon his father’s blood had gushed into the sand and changed their lives forever. Then it was gone, replaced by an irregular row of tall palms, and Ahmose sighed lightly. “All the boats should be safely past Qes within the hour,” he said in a low voice. “We have seen nothing and no one, Kamose. I think we may risk some time to sleep before we approach Dashlut. How much farther is it?”

  “About eight miles,” Kamose responded automatically. “We can put in soon. Besides, I want to send out scouts. I must know if there are any soldiers in the town and how the houses lie. What I ought to do is order one of the ships on past Dashlut to intercept anyone trying to escape and warn Teti at Khemmenu, but as Khemmenu is only a further eight miles north it will not matter. We will be on him before he can crawl from his couch, let alone summon his Setiu from their beds.” He made no attempt to disguise the tone of contempt. “Yes, we will rest, Ahmose. And beyond Dashlut I think we will rest again.” He must have betrayed the secret thought behind the words, for Ahmose swung to him, peering into his face.

  “Kamose, what are you going to do to Dashlut?” he asked urgently. Kamose put a finger at his lips.

  “I will rouse the mayor and give him one chance to surrender. If he refuses, I shall destroy the town.”

  “But why?”

  “For two reasons. First because it is Apepa’s southernmost outpost. Qes does not really count. Apepa rules all Egypt but his fingers only reach as far as Dashlut. Like the fool he is, he has not bothered to garrison anything farther south, although Esna and Pi-Hathor are actively his and of course he treatied with Teti the Handsome of northern Kush. Thus he presumed that the rest of Egypt was safely enclosed, and with the arrogance of all the Delta dwellers he saw us as crude, provincial and impotent. If I demolish Dashlut, I send a message to the whole country that I am bent on conquest,
not talk. Secondly, I must leave fear at my back. There must be no doubt regarding my intention, no temptation on the part of the administrators I leave behind to hope for aid or send for it once my forces have passed by. The Setiu defeated us without one arrow being fired against them, Ahmose,” he finished emphatically. “Such complacency must never be allowed again.”

  “Kamose, there are certainly Setiu in Dashlut,” Ahmose said anxiously. “Farmers and artisans. But there are also many Egyptians. Is it wise …”

  “Wise?” Kamose broke in roughly. “Wise? Don’t you understand that if we stop at every village to sift through the populace to determine who is Setiu and who not, who will ally themselves with us and who will say the words only and then stab us in the back, we will never reach the Delta? How will you tell friend from foe, Ahmose? Will the man who smiles be a friend and the ill-favoured a foe?”

  “That is not fair,” Ahmose protested quietly. “I am not as ingenuous as you suppose. But I shrink from such indiscriminate bloodshed. Why not simply station loyal troops in each town as we go?”

  “Because such a strategy would bleed the army dry when every man will be needed at Het-Uart. How many professional soldiers has Apepa got in his capital? A hundred thousand? More? Certainly not less. Besides, when victory is ours, the men will want to take their earnings and go home. They will not wish to stay in northern towns and I cannot blame them. Then, if I were Apepa, if I fled and survived, I would plot a countermove. That must not happen.”

  “Gods, how long have you been nursing this ruthlessness?” Ahmose muttered.