It was always gloomy in that vast space. Footfalls echoed, whispers were magnified into a hundred ghostly voices, and everywhere the floor was littered with traps of broken stone and half-hidden holes, as though the palace mourned its ancient inhabitants and wished to capture more. Holding up her sheath, eyes on her sandalled feet, Tetisheri stepped gingerly past the wide dais on which the Horus Throne once stood and groped her way along the rear passages until she came to the open mouth where thick double doors of electrum had once heralded the women’s quarters. Here there were shafts of sunlight bursting through the intact clerestory windows high above and she had no difficulty finding the rough stairs leading onto the roof. Muttering an imprecation against her grandson’s predilection for odd corners in which to find privacy, she began to climb.
She found him where she knew she would, sitting with his back against the ruined windcatcher, knees drawn up, arms folded across them. There was no sign of his guard or his dog. He stirred a little when she appeared but did not look at her, and she brushed away the sharp pebbles and stone dust before settling herself beside him as best she could. For a while they rested in a companionable silence, both watching the shadows of early evening lengthen across the roof, until Tetisheri said, “Why do you think Apepa has not answered your challenge, Kamose? Why has he done nothing?” He blew out his breath and shook his head.
“I do not know,” he answered. “Certainly there are enough troops within Het-Uart to have engaged us and perhaps even defeated our forces. To my mind there are two reasons for his delay. The first lies in the man himself. He is both cautious and over-confident. Cautious in that he will not take any gamble. Confident because his ancestors have been in power for many hentis and they bequeathed those years of peace to him. Neither he nor his father have had cause to lift the sword, indeed, Apepa has not even bothered to establish an efficient network of spies. He has relied entirely on sporadic information from nobles like Teti. The second reason is a logical one. He believes that we will simply exhaust ourselves with waiting and in the end give up and go home. Then he can unleash his soldiers without fear of any loss.”
“I agree,” Tetisheri said, pleased that he had arrived at the same conclusions as she. “But of course you will not give up. Have you any plans for the summer?” Glancing at him, she saw him smile coldly.
“All I can do is continue the siege and taunt him daily in the hope that he will become exasperated enough to open the gates and release his army,” he said.
“And does Ahmose agree with you?” She had put the question tentatively and his smile became a harsh bark of humourless laughter.
“Ahmose is all for retreating from Het-Uart and fortifying Het nefer Apu,” he said bitterly. “He wants to make that our northern boundary, establishing permanent troops there to prevent Apepa from flowing south. He wants to use the remaining forces to revive the towns I have decimated. He imagines that I ought to be content with ruling over an Egypt still divided, still stained with the sheep herder’s feet. He would undo everything that I have done!”
Tetisheri hesitated before speaking, aware that she was trying to enter a dark place where one wrong word could slam the door in her face. “I am sorry that Ahmose wishes to pursue a different policy,” she began cautiously. “I feel as you do, that Egypt will not be cleansed until the Setiu are driven beyond our borders. But I also believe that Ahmose is unchanged in his desire to see full Ma’at restored. It is just that he is more patient than we. He is afraid to proceed rashly and risk ultimate failure. It might be beneficial to build a fort at Het nefer Apu, Kamose, regardless of how you approach the problem of Het-Uart. That way the south is indeed safeguarded.”
“Afraid, yes,” Kamose cut in vehemently, and Tetisheri saw that he had begun to tremble. “He is afraid. He fears the purging, he fears the decisive action, always he is preaching discretion, prudence. He argues against every move Hor-Aha and I make.”
“Not in public I hope!” Tetisheri said sharply. “The two of you must be seen to agree, Kamose! Dissension between you will weaken the soldiers’ morale and erode the trust of the Princes!” He rounded on her savagely.
“Do you think I don’t know that?” he said loudly. “Tell that to my brother, not to me! Tell him how his lack of support wounds me! Tell him how I have had to command one filthy massacre after another without his understanding, his comfort! Tell him that I am forced to contend with his tacit disapproval when I most need his strength! Must the weight of Egypt’s oppression fall on my shoulders alone?” She touched his shaking arm and found it clammy and cold. Alarmed, she began to stroke it soothingly.
“You are the King,” she reminded him quietly. “In your divinity you are alone. Even if Ahmose stood behind you as nothing but an instrument of your will, you would still inhabit the desert of uniqueness. No matter how Ahmose feels, and I do not believe that he is as opposed to you as you think, he cannot remove that truth. Your friends must be the gods, Majesty.” She saw his chest constrict and his hand closed over her own, stilling its movement.
“I am sorry, Grandmother,” he murmured. “Sometimes my reason begins to fracture and I see phantoms of betrayal where there are none. I love Ahmose and I know he loves me whether he always agrees with me or not. As for the gods …” He looked away, and all she could see was the curve of his cheek. The rest of his features were hidden by the fall of glossy hair. “I forgot to sacrifice to Thoth before I burned Khemmenu. I promised Aahotep and then I forgot. I forgot to celebrate the anniversary of Ahmose’s birth, too, in Payni. Something terrible is happening to me.” She withdrew her hand from his painful grip and kneeling up she took his face between her palms and compelled him to look at her.
“Kamose,” she said deliberately, “it is not as important as you think. We sacrificed for Ahmose here in the temple to mark the beginning of his twentieth year. As for Thoth, he is the god of wisdom. He sees into your heart. You did not purposely neglect him. Your mind was occupied with a task of which he himself approves. If you do not try to wrench your thoughts away from these deadly fantasies, you will indeed go mad, and then where will Egypt be?” She removed her hands for fear he should sense the pounding of her heart through her fingers. “Now tell me of the disposition of the army,” she ordered. “I want to hear about the navy you are forming. Describe the mood of the Princes. Are they bowing under Hor-Aha’s yoke? Tell me the story of Kay Abana again. Tell me of the capture of the bawships. Kamose. Kamose!”
Slowly he obeyed her, and with relief she saw a frown of concentration grow between his thick eyebrows. He picked up a brick shard and began to roll it absently up and down his thigh as he spoke. His words became increasingly clipped and dispassionate, the progression of his thoughts methodical, but sometimes his voice would begin to rise, the phrases flow faster, until with a conscious effort he controlled himself. “I have a mind to build a prison here at Weset,” he finished. “I will put Simontu in charge of it. He is the scribe of the prison already existing, and a Scribe of Ma’at. He administers the city’s granaries. I want to put ordinary peasants under him.”
“A new prison?” Tetisheri, momentarily lulled by the lucidity of his previous discourse, was taken aback. “But why, Kamose? We have few criminals in this nome.” His lip curled.
“It will be for foreigners,” he said. “They will work off their sentences under the authority of peasants, for surely our meanest commoners are as nobles compared to men of alien blood.”
“Your father would not approve,” Tetisheri managed.
“If Seqenenra had imprisoned all our servants of doubtful ancestry, he would not have been so badly maimed,” he retorted. “Mersu would have been safely shut away. I will take no chances here at home, Tetisheri. I have not put Weset to the sword. I do not want to. But the Setiu threat is everywhere, even in our own city. I intend to winnow out the foreign chaff, but I will be merciful. I will segregate, not exterminate.” He pulled himself to his feet and reached down. “Let me help you, Grandmother. The su
n is setting and the palace below will be dark. Hold my hand.” Speechlessly she accepted the offer. Now his skin burned against hers, but she could not pull away from him. She needed his guidance through the empty murk beneath them.
All that evening and far into the night she pondered his words, probing behind them in the hope that she might discover to what extent his soul had sickened. He was exhausted both physically and emotionally, that was obvious, but was his instability merely the result of a fatigue that would fade or was it rooted more deeply? If he broke, they were doomed, unless Ahmose could assume the leadership of the army. Sitting before her cosmetic table while Isis expertly laid the kohl over her wrinkled eyelids and hennaed her withered hands, she allowed the hurt to wash through her.
She loved all the members of her family, loved them with a fierce, possessive pride, but Kamose had been her favourite since the day she had gazed into his solemn little face and recognized a personality much like her own. The years of his growing had reinforced that familiarity. A bond of ka and intellect had formed between them, a consensus of often unspoken agreement. He was far more her son than Aahotep’s, or so she had secretly avowed, but now she wondered if perhaps Aahotep’s calmness had been transferred to her middle child as a brittleness that had only surfaced under extreme stress. To have to think of Kamose as having faults was wounding. It reflected on her powers of judgement. A remedy must be sought.
At dinner that night, while Kamose sat as before with Behek leaning against his leg, the dog’s liquid eyes fixed on his master’s closed face, Tetisheri watched Ahmose as the young man ate and drank, rained kisses on his wife and bantered good-naturedly with the servants. He is completely at ease, she thought. I have never really noticed before how they approach him deferentially but with the confidence that they will not be rebuffed. Kamose commands respect tinged with awe and that is right, it is correct, yet would such a cold thing as respect without affection survive the failure of a king to maintain the aloof sanity of godhead? I did not realize before that Kamose cannot inspire affection.
Sighing, Tetisheri lifted her wine cup to her mouth and drank to hide the flash of disloyalty that insight had brought. Should I approach Ahmose with this burden? she wondered. What really lies behind those limpidly placid eyes of his? Would he repel me with a superficial platitude or grant me the surprise of wisdom? I am ashamed that I do not know. I have taken him too lightly for too long, preferring to contemplate my delight in his brother. Oh, my darling Kamose, I want you to be strong, vital, embody all the virtues bequeathed to you by your lordly ancestors. I want the proud legacy of the Taos to go to you, not to Ahmose.
She requested a draught of poppy that night so that she could sleep, but the effects of the drug wore off long before the dawn and left her suddenly alert, her mind filling with thoughts that buzzed inside her head like a swarm of directionless bees. Resignedly she left her couch, opened her Amun shrine, and began to pray. It was some time before she realized that she was addressing her dead husband and not the God of Double Plumes.
5
IN THE MORNING Tetisheri got into her litter and had herself carried north to Amun’s temple. The day was fine, glittering with a brief freshness that would fade as Ra strengthened, and she travelled with the curtains open so that she could enjoy the view. The river was rising slowly, its turbid current beginning to flow faster in the cool depths where the fish lurked, but its surface rippled brightly as the wind whipped the water. The stiff palm trees and spreading sycamores seemed to lean thirstily towards it in anticipation of their yearly immersion, their branches alive with nesting birds, and in the green reed beds that choked its shallows the herons stood bemused on their delicate legs, their pristine white plumage ruffled by the warm air.
A group of naked children were running in and out of the water with shrieks of delight. They fell silent and bowed to her as she passed and she raised a benign hand to them, smiling at their unselfconscious happiness. War means nothing to them, she thought, answering yet another obeisance from a cluster of women and young girls laden with baskets of laundry. They are protected here in Weset. My son died to make it so. The bawling of oxen alerted her to more traffic on the road and reluctantly she twitched the curtains closed, hearing her guard call a warning and the litter sway as her bearers negotiated the obstruction. The odour of the animals filtered through to her, sun-warmed hide and a hint of dung, and a wave of contentment filled her. The cosmic reality of Ma’at seemed in perfect balance.
She felt the litter turn north and she was gently lowered. Waiting until Isis stepped up with the sunshade, she emerged, squinting at the sudden assault of harsh light, and walked towards the temple. To her left, the chapel of the Osiris King Senwosret lay baking in the sun, and farther along to her right his pillars soared stark and lofty against the horizon. Behind them lay the sacred lake, a pleasing stone rectangle placidly reflecting the vivid blue of the sky. Amun’s precinct was straight ahead at the end of the paved path, and as she approached it, Tetisheri could hear the click of finger cymbals and the voices of priests raised in song. The morning rituals were being concluded. Amun had been washed, censed, and fed. Flowers, wine and perfumed oil had been offered to him and His Majesty had been adored.
Entering the courtyard, Tetisheri paused. Amunmose had just shut and bolted the doors to the sanctuary and was applying the seal that would remain in place until the evening rites took place. Turning, he saw her and bowed, then came to her swiftly, removing from his shoulder the leopard skin and passing it to an acolyte who bore it reverently away. “Greetings, Amunmose,” Tetisheri said. “I have come to see the treasure my grandson brought home.” He returned her smile and gestured to the storerooms and priests’ cells lining the outer wall of the temple.
“It is good to see you, Majesty,” he responded cheerfully. “The goods have all been tallied and sorted. His Majesty has been most generous to Amun and I am grateful.”
“His Majesty knows how much he owes to the power of Amun and the loyalty of his priest,” Tetisheri answered as they began to walk together across the court. “You have given Kamose far more than your trust, Amunmose, and he regards you as a friend.”
“When His Majesty rids Egypt of the foreigners, he has promised to make Weset the centre of the world and elevate Amun to the status of King of the Gods,” Amunmose commented. “We are living in stirring times. Each one of us has been called to examine where our fealty lies.” He hesitated, drew breath to continue, hesitated again, and as they arrived at the storeroom door and were bowed into the welcome coolness by a temple guard, he swung to face her. Seeing his reluctance to speak, she snapped, “Well, Amunmose? What is it?”
“It is the omens, Majesty,” he blurted. “They have not been good since His Majesty returned home. The blood that poured from the bull I sacrificed as a thanksgiving was black and it stank. All the doves were rotten inside. I do not exaggerate.”
“Of course you don’t!” Tetisheri stared at him unseeingly for a moment. “Were the sacrifices made specifically on Kamose’s behalf or in gratitude for the progress of his war?”
“They were made for His Majesty alone, a gift to Amun for keeping him safe. I fear for his life, Tetisheri, yet he is in good health, the army prospers, and most of Egypt is back in the hands of your divine family. I do not understand, but I am more than worried. What have the gods decreed? How has he displeased them? The fate of Egypt is being decided in the person of your grandson. Do the gods not care?”
“You are the High Priest! You should know!” Tetisheri barked back at him, in her panic ignoring his use of her name. “Why was I not told of this before? Kamose has been home for nearly a week!”
“Forgive me,” Amunmose said diffidently. “I did not want to distress you prematurely. There was the bull first, and I sacrificed the doves the following day to be sure that the first omen was correct. When it was confirmed, I consulted the oracle.” Tetisheri wanted to shake him. His expression, usually so open and artless, was a mixtur
e of insecurity and alarm and he was fidgeting nervously with the full sleeves of his shift.
“And what,” she said with obvious deliberation through clenched teeth, “did the oracle say?” His shoulders slumped and he managed a rueful smile.
“I am sorry,” he said at once. “I have been fumbling and imprecise out of my own great concern. The oracle spoke these words. ‘Three Kings there were, then two, then one, before the work of the god was done.’ That was all.”
“That was all? Then what does it mean? Did the oracle elaborate? What are we supposed to make of it and what use is it if it makes no sense to us?” Faced with her own incomprehension, her quick temper was rising and she fought to control it. “Are we supposed to sit around discussing interpretations until some ray of new inspiration strikes us? Three Kings, then two, then one. What in the name of Amun is that about?” Amunmose was used to her outbursts. Going farther into the room, he brought back a stool and set it behind her. She sank onto it absently.
“I am indeed the High Priest,” he said. “I am also the First Prophet of Amun. The god speaks to the oracle but the authority to interpret is mine.”
“Well, stop shredding your linen and perform your task!” He nodded.
“There were three Kings, three true Kings in Egypt,” he said. “Seqenenra the Mighty Bull of Ma’at, Beloved of Amun; his son Kamose, the Hawk-in-the-Nest; and his youngest son, Prince Ahmose. We cannot consider poor Si-Amun, who sold his birthright and paid the price. Your son, Seqenenra, was killed. In that moment Kamose, the Hawk-in-the-Nest, became the Mighty Bull in his father’s place.”
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