After the second reading Kamose took the scroll and dismissed Ipi. Ahmose spoke into the moment of hiatus. “Let me understand this,” he said slowly. “Hor-Aha proposes that we somehow lure the Setiu to the oasis and as they come we retreat to the Nile, so that by the time they have caught us up we are at full strength with the navy, while they are tired and dispirited after an arduous trek through the desert.”
“It seems so.”
“He is advocating a pitched battle here at Het nefer Apu.”
“Ultimately it would come to that.” Kamose tapped the papyrus meditatively against his chin. “But why would Apepa risk such a move, when he can simply close up his city as he did last year and watch us running to and fro outside like starving rats? He has every advantage. He can sit there inviolate until we are forced to create a border for ourselves at Nag-ta-Hert or here as Hor-Aha points out, thus dividing Egypt into two lands as it used to be hentis ago. Eventually we would have to disband the army and send the men back to the land or face the disintegration of Egypt’s food supply, not to mention her administration.” He sighed. “I had dreamed of storming the city this season, breaching the walls, smashing the gates, but my dream was not realistic. What do you think?” Ahmose chewed his lip.
“There are several problems,” he said at last. “Apepa would have to be convinced that he could indeed wipe us out at the oasis. He is a cautious, not to say timid, man. He would not take such a gamble without a clear chance of complete success. Someone would have to make him believe that we thought we were safe in sitting at Uah-ta-Meh. Someone who could act the traitor convincingly. Also, why would his troops arrive at Het nefer Apu any more exhausted than ours? The oasis has plenty of water. The Setiu arrive at the oasis to find us gone. Before they follow, they replenish their supplies of both water and food and come after us in good health. There is no advantage to us in this plan.”
“Except that, if it worked, we would be saved from another season of fruitless impasse,” Kamose said. “It would draw them out. Apepa has made no effort to attack the five thousand soldiers we left here with Paheri and Abana. He sees us as too disorganized to bother about. He knows that the rebellion will disintegrate in time.”
“Kamose, it will unless we can change our tactics,” Ahmose said softly. “This suggestion of Hor-Aha’s is crude, it needs honing, but it is an alternative we had not considered. We must go to the oasis instead of recalling the army from there. We know that it cannot be defended and we never intended that it should be. It was simply a fairly secret place to winter our men. But we must see for ourselves whether or not it would be suitable as a trap.”
“What do you mean?” Ahmose shrugged.
“I’m not sure, but what if the Setiu were not able to get fresh water once they arrived there? What if it were possible to retire into the desert and then return to surround them? We have never seen Uah-ta-Meh, Kamose. We should at least go and study the terrain. Perhaps we can bring everything to a head, do something decisive. What use is a fine navy and a disciplined army if the enemy will not fight?”
“I had wanted to bring them east,” Kamose said unwillingly. “We will waste time if we trek to the oasis only to find Hor-Aha’s great plan impractical in the end. Still …” He laid the scroll on his cot. “Who is to say that Amun did not whisper the idea in the General’s ear? Let’s recall Ipi and go on with the dispatches Paheri gave us.”
That evening there was a feast for the Taos and their officers in the house of Het nefer Apu’s mayor. The atmosphere was rowdy and merry, the revellers optimistic. The flood had been good, a new campaign season was about to begin, and there was no shortage of beer. Ahmose gave himself over to the frenetic delights of the occasion, but Kamose, though he longed to do the same, found himself as always the quiet observer, watching the antics of his fellows with cool detachment. Already his mind was entangled in his General’s proposal, turning it this way and that, searching for a way to make it work, looking for hidden difficulties. Politely he endured the festivity, knowing that it was in his honour, answering the obeisances of the men and women who came up to the dais to bow before him and press their lips to his feet, but long before the lamps began to gutter and the drunken guests slumped unconscious and satiated over their small tables he was eager to return to the silence of his cabin.
In the morning he and a white-faced and yawning Ahmose sat on a raised platform beside the Nile and watched the navy go through its paces. Abana had devised a mock battle to demonstrate the skill of his new marines and in the glittering sunlight they were an awesome sight. The boats moved to and fro, the officers’ commands rang out sharp and clear, and the men obeyed with precision and alacrity. Kamose was particularly impressed with the clashes between the craft to be boarded and the soldiers scrambling to board them. No one fell into the water. All recovered balance and wits enough to begin to fight at once with the wooden swords issued to them for the exercise. Marines on the bank provided fleeting targets for the archers lining the rocking decks and again and again the tipless arrows fired by those men found their mark.
The Medjay, jostling in the shallows for the best vantage points, yelled and whistled their approval. Paheri sat with the brothers but Abana stood easily in the controlling boat, fists on his hips, his voice carrying clearly over the turbulent water as he called his orders. “You see Baba’s son Kay standing beside him?” Paheri almost shouted to Kamose over the tumult. “He has proved himself a good soldier, but more importantly he is a fine sailor like his father and knows how to command the respect of the men. I would like to recommend him for promotion, Majesty.” Kamose nodded his understanding without replying.
When it was over and the boats had lined up side to side in what was itself a display of the sailors’ dexterity, Kamose rose and praised them, alluding to events in their battle and giving them the rest of the day to do as they pleased. They cheered him enthusiastically and at their officers’ word began to disperse. Abana ran down his ramp, his son behind him, and came up to Kamose, bowing profoundly. “A little more than a year ago those men were farming peasants,” Kamose said. “You have utterly transformed them. I am full of admiration.”
“Your Majesty is kind,” Abana replied, smiling. “It has been a pleasure for me to do more than oversee dockyards and inspect trading vessels for repairs. After serving under Your Majesty’s father, Osiris Seqenenra, I must confess that my own life until recently seemed entirely mundane.” He took his son’s arm and pulled the young man forward. “I would like to bring my son Kay to Your Majesty’s attention once again.” Kamose ran his eye swiftly over the same shock of curly hair, barrel chest and rugged features as Baba’s.
“You have been under your father’s command, Kay?” he enquired. The young man bowed.
“I have, Your Majesty.”
“And what did you think of the mock engagement today?” Kay considered, then answered boldly.
“My father’s ship, The Offering, did well. His crew is the most thoroughly disciplined in the fleet. I was pleased to see that the Shining in Ma’at had improved in the area of manoeuvring quickly. Its sailors have had trouble controlling the vessel smoothly. But the Barque of Amun and the Beauty of Nut held onto their advantage by the skin of their teeth. Their marines have still not entirely mastered the art of handling their bows on the deck of a lurching ship but they work hard and they are certainly improving.”
“Which craft turned in the worst performance?”
“The North,” Kay said at once. “The oarsmen were slow, the helmsman panicked, and the marines fell over each other when the order to board was given.”
“Indeed.” Kamose smiled. “Then I think you must take over the captaincy of the North and knock its crew into better shape. Paheri has recommended you for promotion. How old are you?”
“Majesty!” the young man exclaimed. “You are generous! I would like nothing better than to put the North through its paces! It will become the best ship in the fleet I promise you! Forgive my outbu
rst,” he finished more calmly. “ I am twenty years old.”
“Very well. I expect you to serve me honestly and to the best of your abilities as captain of your ship. You are dismissed.” Kay bowed immediately and backed away, his face alight. They watched him run to the North’s ramp and stand gazing up at his new charge. “Do what you like with the North’s previous captain,” Kamose said to Baba. “I presume you know his weaknesses. Put him somewhere where his strengths can be turned to our use.”
“Your continued faith in my son will not be abused, Majesty,” Abana said. “And thank you, Paheri, for bringing him to His Majesty’s attention.” Kamose inclined his head.
“You and Paheri have different talents,” he said, “but I have never before seen two men who complement each other so well. I leave my fleet in good hands.”
“Your Majesty is gracious,” Abana responded. “Thank you. It would have been a nuisance to have to accord deference to anyone else you might have designated. As it is, I can easily shout Paheri down.” The two grinned. Paheri momentarily lost his rather prim, serious demeanour.
“You are indeed generous, Majesty, and we will do our utmost to honour the trust you place in us,” he said. “Have you orders for us? I presume that you will recall the army from the oasis and we will proceed downriver to the Delta.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Kamose replied carefully, his eyes on the noisy scene around him. Beyond the sheltering bodies of Ankhmahor and the Followers the riverbank was crowded with troops handing in the mock weapons, inspecting their bruises and scratches, plunging sweaty limbs into the water, and gathering in excited groups to dissect the tactics of their engagement. “I intend to travel to Uah-ta-Meh myself,” he went on. Rapidly and succinctly he laid before them the gist of Hor-Aha’s suggestion and they listened attentively.
“It may work,” Paheri remarked when Kamose had finished. “I have heard that the desert surrounding the oasis is very inhospitable. Moreover, any army marching from Ta-she under the very best conditions would still arrive there fatigued. We are to hold the navy here then, pending your instructions?”
“Yes.”
“Have we your permission to raid downstream? These men must not be idle, Majesty. Their morale is high, but without a few skirmishes they will easily cease to believe in their abilities. Action ought to follow hard upon their training.”
“I know this,” Kamose agreed. “But I do not want to sting Apepa into attacking Het nefer Apu instead of concentrating his forces on the oasis. That is, of course, if we can devise a suitable plan to draw him there. If we do, then there will be fighting enough when we retreat and he follows. I will send you regular reports, Paheri. Until then you must go on drilling your men.” He rose and at once the others also stood. “We leave for Uah-ta-Meh at sunset,” he said. “We may as well travel at least some of the way in the coolness of night. You have lifted my spirits, both of you,” he told them. “At last this campaign is acquiring a coherent shape. You are dismissed.” They bowed.
“May the soles of your feet be firm, Majesty,” Abana said. Kamose watched them vanish into the crowd before stepping from the platform and addressing Ankhmahor.
“We leave the ship this evening,” he told his Commander. “Have two chariots ready.” He turned to Ahmose. “Akhtoy can see to the baggage train and Ipi can send a message on ahead of us with a herald. Hor-Aha and the division commanders have twenty-three of the chariots we captured at Nefrusi. If we take two, we will be leaving fifty for the scouts and officers here. Did I do the right thing, Ahmose?” Ahmose looked at him curiously. There was a note of doubt in his brother’s voice.
“In promoting young Abana, most certainly,” he urged. “In deciding to go to the oasis, well, Kamose, we have no way yet of knowing what the right thing is. Let us sacrifice to Amun before we go. Is something wrong?” Kamose squared his shoulders.
“No,” he said. “But it is one thing to lead a motley rabble of grumbling peasants. It is quite another to be King of a formidable army. Everything is coming to a head, Ahmose. I can feel it. My destiny is being fulfilled, I am waking from a poignant dream to find it mirrored in reality, and I am awed and a little afraid. Come. Let’s get out of the sun and find something to drink. I must dictate to Tetisheri before we take the track into the desert.” He swung away, calling for Ipi and Akhtoy as he did so, and Ahmose followed on a sudden wave of homesickness. Weset seemed a long way away.
7
ALTHOUGH A HERALD bearing the news of their imminent arrival was dispatched with chariot and driver less than an hour later, Kamose and Ahmose did not take the track that wound away from the river until dusk. At first it ran through still-naked fields, criss-crossed by irrigation canals and lined with stately palm trees, but before long all signs of cultivation ceased. The land stretching ahead was barren and forlorn, a seemingly endless vista of sand broken haphazardly by patches of rough gravel that looked like pools of dark water in the uncertain light. The path itself was still clear, a narrow ribbon winding away into a dim nothingness, and for several hours they followed it in a silence that grew as night deepened. Kamose led, driving his own chariot with Ankhmahor standing watchfully behind him. Ahmose followed, and beside them their bodyguard marched grimly. The donkey train brought up the rear.
Sometime towards midnight Kamose called a halt; the chariots were unhitched and the horses watered. After posting guards, the brothers wrapped themselves in their cloaks and lay down in the softer sand beside the track. Ahmose was soon asleep, but Kamose lay on his back gazing up at a sky brilliantly festooned with stars set in an all-enveloping canopy. The air was delightfully cool. No sound disturbed the profound tranquility embracing him. In spite of the many activities of the previous day and the gentle ache of muscles unused to chariot work, he was not tired. His mind, so often noisy with clamorous thoughts, was quiet. I am doing the right thing, he told himself peacefully. My doubts fell away as soon as Het nefer Apu was behind me. It is good to be here in the desert for a few precious days with no responsibilities. I feel as I did when I was a boy and Si-Amun was alive. We did little but swim and fish and make forays to hunt in the sands east of Weset. I have become old in the intervening years. Ahmose murmured in his dreams, stirring and flinging one warm arm across Kamose’s neck, and the spell was broken. Smiling ruefully to himself, Kamose closed his eyes.
They rose at dawn, broke their fast quickly, and were following their long shadows west before Ra had cleared the smudged horizon behind them. The horses plodded on resignedly in the increasing heat, and soon Kamose halted so that sunshades could be attached to the chariots. In spite of the water he had drunk with his lentils and bread he was already thirsty, the sweat dampening his linen, the glare of light on the ground aggravating an already pounding head. It is just bearable for us, raised in the furnace of the south, he thought. How would it be for soldiers from the softness of the Delta, unused to anything but orchards and damp gardens? He grinned over gritty teeth. Hor-Aha’s plan had begun to grow in viability as the tedious miles glided by under his chariot’s wheels.
Six hours later they were forced to make camp, and they spent the remainder of the day sheltering under whatever shade they could find. “We are making good time all the same,” Ahmose remarked in answer to Kamose’s grumble. “We should sight the oasis in another two days, maybe less. The donkeys are drinking more water than we anticipated, but we will still have plenty left in the skins if you want to wash.” He squinted into the furnace above. “For myself I will not bother until our tent is pitched beside one of the springs at Uah-ta-Meh. A winter spent out here will have toughened up the troops considerably, Kamose.”
“But we ourselves have become somewhat delicate,” Kamose answered. “The sun is our medicine, Ahmose. We must take it to become strong again.”
At sunset on the third day they sighted a corrugation limning black against the red rim of the sinking sun on the horizon and knew it was their destination. Impatiently Kamose had ordered them to push
on through the afternoon’s discomfort rather than lie up to wait out the worst of the fiery heat, and it was an exhausted caravan that straggled to a halt as a scout appeared beside the track and challenged them.
The oasis of Uah-ta-Meh was one hundred miles equidistant from both Ta-she to the north-east and the Nile due east. It was a long, uneven depression running fifteen miles from north to south, with a village at either end. A beaten path snaked between them through an inhospitable panorama of jagged black rocks and sand dunes. The village to the north was a motley collection of huts leaning haphazardly between more rocks and a few springs that fed a vivid green life into an otherwise arid landscape. There were pools, clumps of straggling bushes, even a palm tree or two, and it was here that Kamose stepped down from his chariot, relinquished the reins to a waiting servant, and turned to receive the obeisance of his General.
Full dark had fallen and the air was suddenly redolent with the smell of water and the sweet aroma of the oleander flowers that bloomed everywhere. The still reflection of starlight in the pools was broken into shards as the chariot horses and the braying donkeys bent their heads to drink. Already Ipi had appeared, dusty but composed, his palette in his hands. Shouts rang out as men struggled to unload the brothers’ belongings, their movements lit by the glare of orange torches, and soon their tent was being pitched beneath a stunted palm while Akhtoy stood by issuing orders. Kamose bade Hor-Aha rise and they studied one another for a moment.
“It is good to see you again,” Kamose said at last. “There is much news to give and receive, but before we talk I must toss beer down my throat. When our tent is ready, I want to be bathed. I had forgotten the implacability of the desert.” Hor-Aha laughed. He has not changed at all, Kamose thought as the man bowed him towards another tent and he and Ahmose followed. But then, why should he? The winter seemed to trickle by so slowly in Weset, yet it has only been five months since I watched him depart from Het nefer Apu. His hair is longer, that is all. Gratefully he walked into Hor-Aha’s quarters and lowered himself onto a stool. Ahmose sank to the floor with a gusty sigh and the General’s servant offered the beer Kamose craved. Outside, the furore of their arrival went on, but inside the gently billowing linen walls, lit by the glow of a single lamp, there was peace. Kamose drained his cup.
The Oasis Page 19