The Oasis

by Pauline Gedge

  “They are mannerless,” Kamose agreed. “But that is a mild annoyance beside the question of whether or not they are trustworthy. Thank Amun we do not have to worry about it just now! Akhtoy, bring me Weset wine. My mouth feels foul.”

  Nefrusi was only a short distance downstream and here, as at Khemmenu, great changes had taken place. As his boat tacked to shore in the late afternoon heat, Kamose looked in vain for the sturdy walls and thick gates that would have caused him so much delay if it had not been for Meketra. Piles of rubble littered the ground, cracked stone and chipped mud bricks through which the peasants clambered seeking usable pieces with which to repair their huts or grind their grain. The captain Kamose had left in charge of the demolition picked his way to the foot of the ramp and bowed as Kamose and Ahmose descended. He was dusty and smiling. Kamose greeted him affably. “There has been no trouble with the Setiu workmen, Majesty,” the man said in answer to Kamose’s question. “I think that in another month the site will be level. What must I do with them then? I have left the barracks standing for shelter.” Kamose considered.

  “Have them set up the barracks as their permanent home,” he decided. “You and your assistants can move into the house Prince Meketra’s family left. The Setiu can haul soil in here and after the next Inundation they can become farmers. You must know them all well by now. Kill any who are still surly or recalcitrant and continue to guard the rest so that none are able to go north. Keep them away from the local peasants at least until I have defeated Het-Uart, and send me regular reports. You have done well here. I am glad that Nefrusi can be left in your hands. Is there anything you need?” The man bowed.

  “If we are to become a village, it would be good to have a physician here,” he said. “Also a priest to serve the shrine to Amun I would like to build. Another scribe would lighten our load also.” Kamose turned to Ipi who was writing furiously.

  “You have recorded that?” he asked. Ipi nodded. “Good. You shall have what you require, captain. Ipi will draw up a requisition for you to take to Khemmenu. Use it judiciously. It will give you the authority to enter the granaries and storehouses as well, until such time as the Setiu begin producing their own wheat and vegetables. If they behave, we may supply them with wives next year.” The captain looked at Kamose uncertainly and seeing the King’s grin he laughed.

  “Women will multiply my problems, Majesty,” he said. “They are one luxury the foreigners can do without, at least for now. I thank Your Majesty, and if you will dismiss me I will return to work.”

  “Have wine and beer unloaded for the captain and his soldiers,” Kamose instructed his scribe as he regained the deck. “And make a note that if all goes well here the captain must be promoted.” He stretched. “I feel lighthearted today, Ahmose. We will not move on until the morning. Het nefer Apu is only another forty miles downstream and we are making good time. Mekhir is not yet upon us.”

  “I wonder what we shall see before we get there,” Ahmose muttered. “Ten villages we destroyed last year, Kamose. I imagine that the fields are already full of weeds.” Kamose did not answer. Turning abruptly on his heel, he went into the cabin and closed the door.

  As Ahmose had predicted, the land from Nefrusi onwards had a derelict air. Acres of untilled brown earth showed between clumps of rank grass and tufts of ungainly wild growth. Here and there the irrigation canals had silted up and debris from the flood—tree branches, the bones of animals, old birds’ nests and other flotsam—still lay on the untended ground. Close to the ravaged villages, small groups of bedraggled women and listless children could be seen, bent over the tiny patches they had cleared. They did not even straighten up as the flotilla went by. “Give them grain, Kamose!” Ahmose urged as they stood side by side. “We have plenty!” But Kamose, his mouth drawn into a thin line, shook his head.

  “No. Let them suffer. We will give them peasant males from our own nome who will fill these miserable houses with Egyptian children, not Setiu half-breeds. Ankhmahor!” he shouted irritably to the Commander of his Followers. “Send back to the other boats and tell the Medjay to stop their noise! It does not go well with the cheerless neglect around us!” Wisely Ahmose did not try to argue with him and no other words passed between the brothers as the sad miles lengthened behind them.

  One day out of Het nefer Apu they encountered their own scouts posted to permanently watch the river traffic, and it was with great relief that long before the town came in sight the sounds of the navy filled the limpid air, mingling with the dust of its camp. The Medjay began to babble excitedly. Kamose’s captain ran to climb up beside the helmsman, alternately issuing orders and shouting warnings to the captains of the great cedar barques choking the river. Heralds on the bank began to join their voices to the general hubbub and Kamose heard their cries fly from mouth to mouth. “The King is here! His Majesty has arrived! Make ready for the Mighty Bull!” Sailors tumbled from the tents that lined the Nile to bow and stare, and behind the furore the town itself emerged, a press of low buildings around which streams of busy people, plodding donkeys and laden carts swirled. The clamour reached out to embrace the brothers with the arms of an optimistic normality and Kamose felt his spine loosen after the weight of the melancholy and silent vistas they had passed through.

  He and Ahmose, followed by Akhtoy and Ipi, reached the foot of the ramp, and the Followers immediately took up their positions around the royal pair. After giving the Medjay officers permission for the archers to disembark, Kamose set off towards the largest tent, pitched a little way away from the others, but before he reached it Paheri emerged, Baba Abana at his side, and came swinging along the uneven path. Halting, both men knelt with their foreheads in the dust. Kamose bade them rise and together they re-entered the tent. Paheri indicated a chair and Kamose, taking it, waved the rest of them down. Ahmose sat on a stool but Paheri and Baba Abana sank cross-legged onto the worn carpet. Although the tent was spacious, its furnishings were sparse. A lamp hung from its sloping roof, swaying gently in the breeze that was lifting its sides. Two camp cots were set far apart. A table stood at the closed end and under it a large chest. Beside it a scribe was bowing profoundly. A plain travelling copper shrine had been placed behind it. Just inside the tent flap a servant waited. Akhtoy joined him. Ipi settled himself on the carpet by Kamose’s feet and began to arrange his palette.

  Kamose surveyed his two naval officers. Paheri was glancing about with the shadow of a frown on his face, an invisible list obviously being checked off in his mind. Everything from his upright back to his calmly folded hands and the air of worried authority he exuded spoke of his years as an administrator in Nekheb. Baba Abana, however, sat with casual ease, his kilt rumpled over his thighs, his calloused fingers tracing an absent pattern on the rug in front of his folded legs. “Give me your reports,” Kamose said. Paheri cleared his throat, held out a hand to his scribe for the massive scroll, unrolled the papyrus, and shot Kamose a stern though impersonal glance.

  “I think you will be very pleased with what Baba and I have done with the riff-raff soldiers you left us,” he said. “All of us, officers and men, have worked extremely hard to develop an effective marine force. My shipwrights from Nekheb have made sure that each of the thirty cedar craft you left with us was kept in excellent repair. I have here an account of each boat, the names of its officers and men, and the particular skill of each one of them. Approximately one in five of the soldiers here could not swim when we began their training. Now they can all not only swim but dive as well.”

  “We devised a rule whereby if a man dropped one of his weapons overboard he was responsible for retrieving it,” Abana cut in. “At first we had to hire some of the local boys to dive for the swords and axes and refuse beer to the guilty men, but now they have become such good marines that they do not even lose the weapons, let alone have to dive for them.” Paheri had opened his mouth and was about to begin reading again from the seemingly endless scroll, and Kamose hastily stepped in.

  �
��I presume you have a copy of your lists,” he said. “Give it to Ipi and I will go over it at my leisure. That way I can absorb its contents more deeply. I congratulate you both on the swimming lessons. A man who is drowned during a battle is a stupid and unnecessary loss. I see that I have put my faith in the right men.” His tone was not ingratiating and the compliment was received as just. “Now tell me of the training you devised,” Kamose went on. Paheri nodded, but before he spoke he signalled to his servant waiting by the tent flap. The man bowed and disappeared.

  “Baba and I mapped out a strategy together,” Paheri explained, “but it was Baba who saw to its implementation. We abandoned all drilling on land. The soldiers ate, slept and exercised on the ships for the first two months and after that they were only allowed to pitch tents on the bank if they had been victorious in one of the engagements we set up every week.”

  “I am glad Your Majesty was not here to see those first miserable attempts at naval warfare,” Abana said, a smile in his voice. “Boats ramming each other, oars tangling and snapping, soldiers losing their balance as their craft lurched, captains screaming abuse at each other across the water. And of course a veritable shower of swords, axes and daggers piercing the surface of the Nile. Those were frustrating days.” But he did not look frustrated. He looked happily smug. “Your Majesty will be pleased to know that only a mere handful of weapons were irretrievable.” He unfolded his legs and leaned back on his hands. “I guarantee that Apepa’s marines will look like fumbling amateurs beside ours.”

  “I do not think that Apepa has any coherent naval force,” Ahmose said. “He has left the canals to the traders and citizens and relied on the impregnability of his gates. How is the soldiers’ morale, Paheri? And how have your stores held out?” Paheri allowed himself a polite twitch of the lips.

  “Morale is excellent, Highness. It is hard to believe that the motley crowd of grumbling peasants you rounded up has become what you will see tomorrow. The officers have prepared a demonstration of skill and discipline I hope you will enjoy. As for our stores, we have been liberal. If a soldier goes hungry, he does not fight well. We have enough grain and vegetables to carry us through to the next harvest. All the fields around the town have been sown already.” Doubtless he would be able to reel off the number of bushels of wheat used, the amount remaining, even the weight of the seed scattered, Kamose thought admiringly. He was a good mayor and he has become a superb Scribe of Assemblage.

  At that moment, a small parade of servants entered, bearing trays laden with dishes that filled the airy space with the aroma of hot food. At another gesture from Paheri they began to serve it, and Kamose realized that he was genuinely ravenous for the first time in many days. This man forgets nothing, he thought as he watched roast goose stuffed with leeks and garlic being lowered onto the camp table another servant had placed in front of him, and bread glistening with juniper-laced olive oil followed. Two jugs were held out below a respectfully bowed head. Kamose chose the beer and watched with satisfaction as the dark liquid cascaded into his cup. “I think I will remove you from the navy and set you to work organizing the army’s rations, Paheri,” he joked as he licked oil from his fingers. Paheri’s face immediately took on an expression of shocked anxiety.

  “Oh, Majesty, I am yours to command, but I beg you to consider that …” Kamose burst out laughing.

  “I am not foolish enough to take an hereditary shipbuilder away from his ships,” he said. “I was only joking, Paheri. I am more than content with all you have accomplished here.”

  While they ate, the conversation became general but did not stray far from the interests of all military men. Abana questioned the brothers regarding the Medjay, where in Wawat they were from, how many different tribes made up the division of five thousand Kamose had kept with him, how they had acquired their legendary skills as bowmen. Kamose could detect no prejudice in his words, only a desire for knowledge, and answered as readily as he could. “You must ask the General Hor-Aha these things,” he finally confessed. “He knows the Medjay better than anyone, having brought them out of Wawat. All I know is that we would not have been able to move downstream with the speed we did last year without the amazing accuracy of their archery. I do not even know what strange gods they worship.”

  “They are intrigued by Wepwawet of Djawati and Khentiamentiu of Aabtu,” Ahmose said. “Both are Egyptian jackal gods of war. But they seem to follow some strange religion whereby certain stones or trees contain good or evil spirits that must be appeased and they each carry a fetish to protect them from their enemies.”

  “Does Hor-Aha?” Kamose asked him, surprised at the information he had somehow gleaned. Ahmose nodded, his mouth full of sesame cake.

  “He carries a scrap of linen our father used once to staunch a bleeding scratch. He showed it to me once. He keeps it folded up in a tiny leather pouch sewn to his belt.”

  “Gods,” Kamose muttered, and changed the subject.

  After they had demolished the food, Paheri took them into the town to inspect the storehouses and then into the tents of the soldiers. Everywhere Kamose was struck by the neatness of the men’s belongings, the cleanliness of their scant clothing, and the care with which they treated their weapons. Swords gleamed sharp and spotless, bowstrings were oiled, the rope that bound axe heads to hafts was unfrayed and tight. Beneath the constant din arising from the boats and barges choking the river from the west bank to the east, he moved among the deferential men with a question for one, a word of praise for another, becoming acutely conscious as he went that he was at last the Commander-in-Chief of a fighting force that could be called a navy.

  Before he retired to his ship, he arranged to be present the following day to observe the manoeuvres Paheri and Abana wanted him to see, and he received an armful of scrolls from Paheri’s scribe. “These are all the reports made by our scouts in the Delta,” Paheri explained. “Most were sent on to you at Weset, Majesty, but you might like to refresh your memory with the copies. There is also one scroll from General Hor-Aha. It is sealed and came with the instruction that it was to be given to you personally when you arrived. I have obeyed.” Kamose passed the unruly pile to Ipi.

  “Have there been any Setiu spies caught anywhere near here?” he asked Paheri. The man shook his head.

  “I expected to deal with a few, but the scouts have challenged none any farther south than Ta-she. It is my opinion that Apepa simply does not care what we do because he regards Het-Uart as inviolate and he will not stir outside his city.”

  “That is my opinion also. Thank you.” He walked up the ramp and gained the cabin in a thoughtful frame of mind, Ipi on his heels. Somehow Apepa must open his gates, he mused. He must be persuaded, but how? He sat down on the edge of his cot with a sigh. The morning had been eventful. Ahmose’s shadow darkened the doorway as Akhtoy bent down to remove Kamose’s sandals.

  “I’m ready for an hour on my cot also,” he yawned. “They have done wonders here, Kamose, the two of them. I think they deserve some kind of recognition. Will you read the dispatches now?” Kamose swung his feet up onto his mattress.

  “No. Later. You can go, Ipi. Akhtoy, tell the guard on the door not to disturb us for at least an hour.”

  He slept like a child, deeply and dreamlessly, and his waking was childlike also, a sudden return to consciousness and a keen awareness of well-being. Summoning his steward, he had himself washed, changed his linen, ordered bread and cheese, and went out to sit under the wooden sunshade. In a few moments Ahmose joined him. They ate and drank briefly, then Kamose sent for Ipi. “Now,” he said to his scribe when the man was settled beside his bare feet, “we had better begin with the scroll from Hor-Aha. Read it to us, Ipi.” Ipi broke the seal and began.

  “‘To His Majesty King Kamose, Mighty Bull of Ma’at and Subduer of the vile Setiu, greetings.’”

  “Subduer of the vile Setiu,” Ahmose murmured. “I like that.”

  “‘I have spent much time this winter pondering
the matter of Het-Uart and wondering what Your Majesty’s strategy might be during this season’s campaign,’” Ipi went on. “‘I have presumed that Your Majesty’s choices are limited to a renewed siege of Het-Uart or the fortifying of Nag-ta-Hert or Het nefer Apu against an incursion from the north, coupled with a mopping-up of territory already held. I would like to humbly propose an alternative. I do so with boldness only because I am Your Majesty’s General and Your Majesty has seen fit to consult me on military matters before.

  “‘As Your Majesty is well aware, there are only two tracks leading into and out of this oasis. One comes down from the lake of Ta-she and one runs due west from Het nefer Apu, already secured by your navy. If Apepa’s troops could be informed that your army bivouacks at the oasis and if his generals could be persuaded to leave Het-Uart, they would be forced to travel to Uah-ta-Meh through the desert by way of Ta-she, because the navy holds the approach to the only other route, which leaves the Nile just north of Het nefer Apu.

  “‘You would then enjoy two advantages. Firstly, the desert terrain is rocky and both trails are very narrow. Secondly, if your troops retreated from Uah-ta-Meh back to the Nile and the safety of Het nefer Apu, Apepa’s officers, no matter what they chose to do, would be faced with a daunting and exhausting march either back to Ta-she or forward in pursuit of your army. It is less far to the Nile than to Ta-she. I judge that they would pursue the army. Thus by the time they were forced to engage both the army and the navy they would be fatigued and demoralized. I trust Your Majesty is not offended by my temerity in putting forth this suggestion. I await with glad anticipation either your command to return the troops to the Nile or the arrival of your royal person. I extend to His Highness Prince Ahmose my devotion.’” Ipi looked up. “It is signed ‘Prince and General Hor-Aha’ and dated the first day of Tybi,” he finished. “Would you like me to read it again, Majesty?” Kamose nodded. He glanced at Ahmose who was staring breathlessly at the scribe.