The Oasis

by Pauline Gedge

  But is he? Tetisheri asked herself as she stood, put that scroll and the latest one into the box, and lowered the lid. If Het-Uart is so impossible to storm, why should he risk his army in an aggressive action? I wouldn’t. Let the besieging army grow tired of patrolling those unyielding, unfriendly walls. Let them eat up their stores and then tighten their belts. Let their hearts grow cold and faint as the days go by. You will have to be very clever indeed to overcome both enemies, within and without, my Kamose, Tetisheri mused as she at last perched on the edge of her couch and called for Isis to remove her sandals. Burning half the Delta will not do it. What will? Soon you and I can grapple with this dilemma face to face.

  In the two weeks that followed, no further scrolls arrived from the brothers, and Tetisheri found herself fighting once more the ogres of an over-active imagination. Apepa had opened the gates and flooded the Delta with those one hundred thousand warriors. On their way home Kamose had been ambushed by distraught peasants and murdered. Ahmose had fallen ill under the Delta’s humidity and was gasping out his life while the fleet was stalled in some northern backwater.

  Weset was preparing to celebrate the beginning of the New Year with great feasts for Amun and Thoth, who had given his name to the first month, and the priests whose task it was to record the level of the Nile from day to day waited anxiously for the minute change that would herald the Inundation. Aahmes-nefertari spent the anxious days in solitude, keeping her worry to herself, but Tetisheri and Aahotep made their way to Amun’s temple, standing mute while Amunmose’s voice was raised in supplication and the incense wreathed about the swaying bodies of the holy dancers.

  It was there that the herald found them, coming over the stone flags of the outer court and bowing as they emerged from their devotions. Tetisheri felt Aahotep’s hand slide into hers as the man straightened up. “Speak,” she offered. He smiled.

  “His Majesty will arrive before noon,” he said. “His craft is even now upon my heels.” Aahotep’s fingers were withdrawn.

  “That is very good,” she said steadily. “Thank you. Are they well?”

  “They are well, Majesty.” She nodded gravely, but her eyes were shining.

  “We will wait by the watersteps. Herald, tell the High Priest that there must be milk and bull’s blood at once.”

  Two hours later the pavement above the steps was crowded with silent watchers. Above them the canopies billowed, white linen rising and collapsing slowly in the hot wind, and under them the whole household stood in tense expectation. Chairs had been set for the three royal women, but they too were on their feet, eyes narrowed against the relentless glare of sunlight on water as they strained to see down river. Behind them the servants and musicians clustered and beside them Amunmose, draped in the leopard skin of his sacerdotal office, rested one hand on the shoulder of the acolyte who clasped the large silver urn containing milk and blood. The censers had been fired, their smoke rising almost invisibly into the fiery air. No one spoke. Even Ahmose-onkh was quiet in his nurse’s arms.

  The silence was not broken even when the prow of the lead vessel nosed around the bend. It came on like the denizen of a dream, oars dipping to plough the water and rising in a glittering fall of droplets, and not until the assembly could hear the warning cries of the captain did the spell break. Like the legs of some enormous insect the oars were shipped at his command and the craft came gently to rest against the mooring pole. In a sudden whirl of activity, servants rushed to secure it, the ramp appeared, the musicians began to play with a thunder of drums and tremor of lutes, and Amunmose took the urn from the boy. Priestesses shook the systra. But Tetisheri was oblivious to the instantaneous din. Her eyes searched the men grouped on the deck. There was Ahmose, brown and sturdy in his yellow-and-white striped helmet, ringed hands on his hips, the sunlight sparking from the gold lying on his broad chest. He was grinning delightedly at Aahmes-nefertari. But where was Kamose?

  Soldiers ran down the ramp to form a guard and Prince Ankhmahor followed. Tetisheri recognized him at once, but her gaze did not linger on him. Chanting the prayers of welcome and blessing, Amunmose began to pour the milk and blood in a pink stream onto the sizzling stone of the paving and a man began to descend the ramp. He was thin, the muscles of his gold-gripped arms and long legs standing out as flexing knots, and his face beneath his blue-andwhite headdress seemed all gaunt hollows. Around his neck hung a pectoral Tetisheri knew, Heh kneeling on the heb sign, the Feather of Ma’at, the royal cartouche encircled by the wings of the Lady of Dread, the lapis gleaming a sultry blue in its prison of gold. Bewildered, with a terrible pang, Tetisheri lifted her eyes once more to the man’s face. He had reached the foot of the ramp now and was pacing through the sticky, steaming puddles of milk and blood, looking for her, looking at her; it was Kamose himself. “Gods!” Tetisheri breathed, horrified, then she knelt in prostration, Aahotep beside her. “Rise,” a voice invited, tired, thin, as thin as the body from which it came, and the women rose. Kamose held out his arms. “Am I really home?” he said, and the women fell into his embrace.

  For a long time Tetisheri held him, inhaling his familiar odour, feeling his warm skin against her cheek, only vaguely aware that Aahmes-nefertari was shrieking with joy and Ahmose had passed her in a flash of yellow. Amunmose had ceased his singing, the end of his prayer drowned out by the prattle of greetings and conversation. Kamose released his kin and turned to the High Priest, gripping his hand. “My friend,” he said huskily. “I have depended much on your faithfulness and the efficacy of your petitions to Amun on my behalf. Tonight we will all feast together and at dawn I will come to the temple to make my sacrifice to the Great Cackler.” Amunmose bowed.

  “Majesty, Weset rejoices and Amun smiles,” he replied. “I will leave you to the welcome of your family.” He backed away and Kamose gestured.

  “Mother, Grandmother, you must remember Prince Ankhmahor. He is the Commander of the Followers and also of the Braves of the King. I have left the other Princes with their respective divisions.” Ankhmahor performed his reverence and excused himself, issuing orders to the soldiers as he went. Ahmose and his wife were still clasped closely against each other, eyes shut, rocking in mutual elation. Tetisheri, struggling to conceal her shock at Kamose’s appearance, was recovering her wits. Glancing behind him at the craft now choking the river from bank to bank, she asked sharply, “Kamose, where is the army? Where is Hor-Aha? Is this all you have brought home with you?” He graced her with a tight smile.

  “I have brought all the Medjay,” he replied brusquely. “I will discuss my disposition of the remainder of our forces with you later, Tetisheri. Now all I want to do is stand on the bathing slab under a deluge of scented water and then fall onto my own couch.” The smile trembled and slipped. “I love you, both of you, all of you,” he finished. “I would kiss every servant assembled here if my dignity would allow!” The words were humorous but his voice had broken. For a moment he waited, lips compressed, his gaze wandering across the façade of the house, the limp trees, the small glint of sun on the surface of the pool half-glimpsed beyond the vine trellis, then he started towards the entrance pillars. At once the Followers fell in before and behind him. Ankhmahor strode at his side. But they had not gone far when a grey shape detached itself from the shade of the vine trellis, came streaking towards them, and flung itself at Kamose. He opened his arms and bent down. Whining with joy, Behek pawed him, licking his face and nudging at his neck. Kamose remained still, only his fingers betraying any emotion as he buried them convulsively in the dog’s warm fur.

  “He looks driven,” Aahotep said to Tetisheri in low tones. “Ill.”

  “He must do nothing but eat and sleep for a while,” Tetisheri agreed. “What is it?” Her last words were addressed to the we’eb priest who had come up and was waiting patiently at her elbow.

  “Your pardon, Majesty,” he said, “but I have been commanded to tell you that the Nile has begun to rise. Isis is crying.”

  That
night the reception hall was full, its shadows no longer melancholy reminders of days gone by. The little dining tables laden with fruit and delicacies were jammed against each other and the guests sat on their cushions almost back to back, garlanded in flowers, their skin gleaming as the fragrant oil in the cones on their wigs melted and ran down their necks. Servants threaded through the noisy crowds, wine jugs or trays of steaming food held high. Music blended with song that burst forth sweetly and intermittently as the excited conversations rose and fell. On the dais the family, resplendent in freshly starched linen, gold dust on their kohled eyelids and henna on their mouths, received the adoration of those who came to their feet to offer thanks and make their reverences. Ankhmahor sat with them, his son seated behind him. The mayor of Weset and other local dignitaries, Amunmose among them, also graced the high table. Ahmose and Aahmes-nefertari ate and drank with arms linked, chattering nonsense, intoxicated more with the sound of the other’s voice than with any words.

  But Kamose remained silent. With his mother on his left hand and Tetisheri on his right, he ate and drank as one famished, gazing seemingly imperturbably at the happy chaos below. Behek leaned against him and he kept one hand on the dog’s grey head, passing him morsels of roast goose or barley bread dipped in garlic oil. Ankhmahor too had nothing to say. For once Tetisheri held her tongue and, after a few attempts to engage her grandson, turned her attention to her own pleasure at the occasion.

  Egypt, with the minor exception of the city of Het-Uart, was back in the hands of its rightful rulers at last. Ma’at was about to be restored. Here, spread out before her in noise and laughter was the proof of Tao superiority and her grandson’s victorious right to ascend the Horus Throne. It will have to be purified before Kamose lowers himself onto it, she thought, closing her eyes and inhaling the mixed scents of perfumed bodies and flower wreaths that came gusting to her nostrils on a puff of night breeze. All trace of Setiu stench must be removed, but we will have a Setiu likeness etched into the gold of the King’s footstool. Yes, indeed we will. Kamose will have to marry whether he wants to or not, but perhaps we will wait until next year when Het-Uart has fallen. I wonder if Kamose has thought to send a message to the mayor of Pi-Hathor, telling him of our success. I would like to tell him myself how annoying it was to have to watch the river constantly for fear a message to Apepa might slip through. But I will tell Kamose nothing yet, she decided, painfully aware of his elbow touching hers, the near immobility of his body. He is in no state to hear me. He must recover first, gain strength. He and Ahmose have not exchanged one word since they arrived home. Now I have new things to worry about, but not tonight. With a sigh she held out her cup for Uni to fill and sipped her wine reflectively. Not tonight.

  Long after the guests had staggered to their skiffs or been carried, happily drunk, to their litters, and the lamps in the refuse-strewn hall had been extinguished, Tetisheri still could not sleep. Too much wine and exhilaration had taken their toll and she lay restless and alert on her couch, listening to the pacing of the guard outside her door. The room was close and stuffy, as though the heat of the day had somehow shrunk to the confines of her four walls. Her sleeping gown irritated her skin where it clung and her pillow seemed full of hostile lumps. Sitting up, she folded her hands and gazed into the dimness, thinking how the whole atmosphere of the house had changed with the return of its masters, and hard upon the heels of that reflection came the knowledge that she herself could relax her authority. Major household decisions would be made by Kamose, at least until the flood had abated. That is both a relief and an annoyance, she mused. If I am honest with myself, I must admit that I like the power inherent in my position as matriarch of the Taos. I will try to be careful not to foist my judgements on any military discussions my grandson and I might have. And there is Aahotep. We have become confidantes in the past months and I have discovered that under her serenity lies a lake of stubbornness and implacability that mirrors my own. She must not be excluded from any policies Kamose and I devise. But the truth is that I do want to exclude her. I want to exclude everyone. Tetisheri, you are a domineering old woman.

  Leaning her head against the rim of the couch, she closed her eyes, uselessly seeking the first drowsy approach of sleep, then with an exclamation of impatience she tossed back her sheet and reached for a cloak. Outside her door, she greeted the guard, assured him that he need not accompany her, and made her way out into the dusky garden.

  The night air was delightfully cool, the heavens thick with a dusting of stars, the grass still damp from its evening watering. I should have put on my sandals, she thought guiltily. Isis will grumble when she anoints my feet tomorrow. But at my age one lapse does not matter. How peaceful this is! As though with Kamose’s return the ineffable harmony of Ma’at has suffused Weset with tranquillity.

  Drawing the cloak around her, she began to wander slowly towards the river, skirting the shrouded entrance pillars of the house where the guards rose from their stools to reverence her, and taking the short path to the water-steps. The paving, now slightly chilly to her footfalls, was still sticky with the purifying libation Amunmose had poured, and Tetisheri smiled briefly into the darkness as she went. It had been a glorious moment.

  The Medjay had left the boats for their quarters and the jumble of empty craft bulked black and misshapen, obscuring the surface of the water. Several guards were gathered around a small fire in a patch of sand beside the watersteps, talking and laughing softly. At her approach they scrambled up in confusion and bowed and for a while she stood with them, comfortable in their presence as she always was with soldiers. They answered her questions respectfully regarding their welfare—were they fed enough? did their captains treat them fairly? were their physical complaints attended to promptly by the army physicians?—and Tetisheri resisted the urge to examine them regarding the details of Kamose’s campaigns. Bidding them a safe watch, she turned back, leaving the path and making her way slowly past the fish pond towards the rear of the house.

  Coming to the corner and starting around it, she paused. At the far reach of her vision the staff quarters showed as a low rectangle huddled against the outer wall of the estate. A little closer in was the kitchen, set at right angles to the scuffed courtyard that also met the house granary, and closer still were the shrubs and clusters of trees that marked the division between masters’ and servants’ domain. They had been planted thickly to protect the privacy of the family, and under the sanctuary of their leaves something moved.

  Tetisheri froze, one hand against the comforting roughness of the house wall, not quite knowing what had alarmed her. A lone guard would have been upright and pacing. Perhaps the crouching shape was a servant who, like her, could not sleep. It was rocking to and fro, to and fro as though it were a woman with a baby clutched to her breast, but no woman possessed such broad shoulders. Puzzled, her senses sharpened, Tetisheri probed the dimness. The set of those shoulders was familiar, the rhythmic motion conveying an interior agitation that intensified the longer Tetisheri watched, until the space between her and the man was filled with a silent agony.

  All at once Tetisheri felt a touch on her arm. Startled, she turned to find Aahotep’s shadowed face inches from her own. “I could not sleep either,” Aahotep whispered. “The day has been too eventful. What do you see, Tetisheri?” For answer, Tetisheri pointed.

  “It is Kamose,” she whispered back. “Look at him, swaying like a drunkard.”

  “Not like a drunkard,” Aahotep responded, her eyes on her son. “Like a man trembling on the verge of insanity. He came home just in time, Tetisheri. I feel helpless in the face of such inner pain. He said nothing at the feast. Nothing at all.”

  “At least he ate his fill,” Tetisheri reminded her in a low voice. “That is a good sign. But you are right, Aahotep. I shudder to think in what state he might have arrived if he had not been forced back to Weset by the Inundation.” Taking Aahotep’s elbow, she drew the other woman away. “He must not know that h
e has been seen,” she said. “Come to my quarters and we will talk.” They retraced their steps together in silence for a while, each deep in worried thought, then Aahotep said, “First he needs much sleep. Our physician can prescribe a soporific for him until such time as he is calm enough to sleep without aid. We must make sure he is not burdened with many duties.”

  “Senehat is a beautiful girl,” Tetisheri put in. “In a few days I will send her to his bedchamber. If he can forget himself in making love, that will be a healing thing. It is all the killing,” she went on more forcefully. “Necessary, we agreed on that, but Kamose has had to carry the weight of it on his conscience for months. It has almost broken him.”

  “Then pray that the winter may heal him,” Aahotep said grimly, “or we will find ourselves in the direst predicament. I miss my husband tonight, Tetisheri. Seqenenra always seemed to know what to do. I felt secure when his presence filled this house.”

  “It was an illusion,” Tetisheri said brutally as they went in under the shadow of the pillars and entered the shrouded entrance hall. “My son was a brave and intelligent man, but it was not within his power to guarantee us our safety, although he tried. No one can, Aahotep. Kamose also is trying and he has almost succeeded, but that is not the kind of security you mean, is it?”

  “No,” Aahotep said shortly. “I want the security of never having to make any decision of importance. I do not wish to be anything other than the widow of a great man.” They had reached Tetisheri’s door and her guard had opened it obligingly for them.