“There was not much of the oasis to see as we came up to it,” he said. “It was too dark. But it seems a rather desolate place, Hor-Aha. How has the army fared?”
“Very well, Majesty,” the man replied. He crossed his legs in a gleam of golden anklet, luxuriously exotic against his black skin. “There is in fact plenty of water but its source is divided. The springs are here in this village, not enough to supply all the troops unfortunately, but at the southern end there is a large well at the other village. I decided to divide the fifty-five thousand men between the two villages. That has made communication difficult for the officers but much easier for the distribution of water. They have not been idle.” He leaned over and poured Kamose more beer. “Their only days of leisure have been for the celebration of gods’ festivals. They have been engaged in desert manoeuvres, survival drills, mock battles, and I am proud to say that you now have an efficient fighting force.” He smiled, his ebony eyes alight. “I understand that you now have a navy also.”
“I have.” In a moment of curiosity Kamose glanced at the man’s belt. It was of shabby leather studded with pieces of milky green turquoise. Hor-Aha had worn it every day for as long as Kamose had known him and Kamose quelled a sudden urge to be shown the secret it contained. He did not want to embarrass his General, however, and he did not think that he wanted to see the piece of linen besmirched with his father’s blood. Not now.
“Where are the Princes?” Ahmose wanted to know. “And Ramose. How has he fared?”
“The herald came straight to me with the message of your arrival, Highness,” Hor-Aha explained. “I took it upon myself to refrain from telling them you were coming until such time as you had recovered from your trek. It is a tiring one. Ramose is in good health. He requested to be posted out in the desert as a scout along the Ta-she track and I agreed. I have sent for him.” He turned an enquiring eye on Kamose. “Do you wish to see the Princes tonight?”
“No.” Kamose decided. “We are both dirty, hungry and tired. Tomorrow will be soon enough for discussions of strategy. Did you lay your plan before them, General?” Hor-Aha shook his head and once more his strong white teeth flashed out at them.
“I thought I would spare myself the humiliation of their criticisms,” he said shortly. “If you think the idea has some merit, then I may have your support when I present it to them, Majesty. If not, then at least I have sunk no lower in their august eyes.”
“If it had no merit, Ahmose and I would not be here,” Kamose said irritably. “Have the Princes been difficult?”
“No. But then they have had little to do but dictate letters to their families, hunt whatever game they could run to ground out there,” he said, waving at the desert that brooded invisibly beyond the confines of the tent, “and train their divisions under my supervision. There has been no conflict between us.” At that moment Akhtoy’s voice broke in on the conversation and Kamose rose.
“The tent is ready,” he said. “Join us in an hour for food, Hor-Aha.”
He did not wait for Hor-Aha’s reverence but strode out, Ahmose behind him. They crossed to their tent, and while Ankhmahor took up his station outside they surrendered to the benison of hot water and the firm hands of their body servants. “Look at this,” Ahmose commented as he stood naked beside his cot. “One carpet on the sandy ground, two miserable cots, two plain chairs and a table. Not to mention the lamp. Spartan surroundings, Kamose, but they seem perfectly wonderful to me after three nights of sleeping out.”
“The tent is larger than our cabin on the boat,” Kamose replied automatically. He was conscious of a mild depression and it was a few seconds before he was able to trace its cause. Hor-Aha and the Princes. He swore softly. “If we can make Hor-Aha’s scheme work, it will go a long way towards reconciling the Princes to his authority,” he said. Ahmose’s retort was muffled by the towel being applied vigorously to his wet hair.
“I do not think so,” he managed. “It will simply make them more jealous. But if you are seen to issue all commands, Kamose, it will not matter. Don’t call him by his princely title in their presence.”
“Why not?” Kamose snapped back. Ahmose’s face emerged, flushed and shiny.
“You will be seeding a disastrous crop if you do,” he said calmly. “Now where is the oil? My arms are sunburned.”
Later they sat with Hor-Aha by the inky pool whose surface now reflected the flare of the torches. Above their laden table the palm leaves rustled dryly. As he ate and drank, Kamose remained powerfully aware of the miles of night-hung desert that surrounded this small enclave of human activity with its utter silence. He wondered what god commanded the ocean of sand; whether Shu, god of the air, or Nut, the goddess whose body arched over the earth, or perhaps Geb himself, whose essence vivified it. Probably all three deities delighted in its awesome quality of timeless solitude. He was drawn to it himself, not in the way he had loved it as a stripling. In those days it had been a limitless playground. Now its boundlessness called to his ka, whispering of the clarity of vision it could bestow, the mysteries of the eternal it could reveal to one who surrendered to its supreme otherness. He recognized its call as an invitation to lay down the crushing obligations of the war his father had begun, to run away, and he wrenched his mind back to the conversation going on between Ahmose and the General. Hor-Aha was enquiring into the state of his Medjay and Ahmose was relating the events of the mock naval battle. Kamose listened without comment.
In the morning both brothers dressed with care. Kamose had himself arrayed in a white, gold-bordered kilt and jewelled sandals. The royal pectoral lay against his chest with its counter weight hanging between his naked shoulder blades, and the thick gold armlet Amunmose had presented to him was tied around his upper arm. A whiteand-blue striped linen helmet framed his painted face and a silver ankh hung from one earlobe. His palms were hennaed. When he and Ahmose were ready, they left the tent, emerging into bright sunlight and the salute of the Followers. Hor-Aha was already waiting, together with a contingent of troops who would act as escort. Ankhmahor stood in Kamose’s chariot and behind it Ahmose’s charioteer was clucking softly at the little horses. Kamose took a swift glance at the surroundings that had seemed so peaceful the night before.
Beyond the largest pool beside which his shelter had been pitched were other pools, each fringed in reeds and stunted palms. Many had narrow irrigation trenches full of scummed and stagnant water leading into tiny fields around whose edges oleander bushes grew in a riot of pink and white blossoms, and everywhere the sand was littered with sharp black rocks where untethered goats picked their dainty way and flocks of geese scuttled to and fro.
The villagers had erected their shanties in a disorderly jumble at the farthest perimeter of their cultivation so that not an inch of arable ground might be wasted. No trees shaded their uneven roofs. Kamose, peering into the distance through a network of shrubs, blooms and the army’s pack animals crowding the verges of the pools for their morning watering, could just discern movement in front of those desolate and impoverished huts. “We keep the villagers away from the tents,” Hor-Aha said, seeing the direction of Kamose’s eyes. “We cannot prevent them from fetching water from the springs in the rocks or bringing their herds of goats and cows to the pools, of course, but we do not allow them to wander about.” He gestured. “The army is camped out beyond the village. Prince Intef has requested the honour of receiving you in his tent. Prince Iasen is with him. The Princes Makhu and Mesehti are on their way from the southern village. I sent for them last night.” Kamose put a hand on the hot frame of his chariot and pulled himself up.
“How long?” he asked. “And what of Ramose?”
“They should arrive in four hours, Majesty. Word has not yet come from Ramose.”
“Then I will inspect the troops before greeting Intef and Iasen. Lead the way, Hor-Aha.”
For much of the morning Kamose directed Ankhmahor to drive him slowly between the ranks of tiny tents in which his soldiers
lived, stopping often to examine their weapons and ask them if they had any needs or complaints. They no longer resembled the conscripts the Princes had dragged from their fields. Burned almost black by the desert sun under whose glare they had marched and drilled, thinned and toughened by the relentless discipline of their officers, they had a sameness about their eyes and the way they moved that gave Kamose a deep satisfaction. He received the deference of the officers and spoke to the army’s physicians. There had been the usual crop of fevers, eye infections and worm infestations but no serious plague had endangered the effectiveness of the force.
Lastly Kamose consulted the Scribe of Assemblage regarding the food supplies. Only then did he have Ankhmahor turn the horses’ heads towards the two large tents set a little apart from the rest. The two guards before it straightened as Ankhmahor called a warning. Kamose alighted and Ahmose walked to join him, stretching hugely. “An impressive tour,” he said. “We must presume that the troops stationed at the other end of the oasis are also in excellent fighting readiness. Who would have thought it a year ago, eh, Kamose? Now I want refreshment.”
“Have the horses taken into the shade and let them drink,” Kamose said to Ankhmahor. “Come with us, Ankhmahor. You are my most trusted Prince and I want you to participate in this discussion. Hor-Aha, have me announced.”
He walked into the shadow of the tent on a wave of trepidation. I do not want to congratulate them on their achievements here, he thought. I do not want to see smiles of self-indulgence on their faces. I still resent them bitterly for letting my father’s desperate bid for freedom go unaided. Petty it may be, but I cannot rid myself of this grudge.
In the cool dimness of the interior there was a flurry of movement. The Princes had risen and as he and Ahmose strode in they bowed. All four were there. Kamose greeted them, bade them sit, and himself took a chair that had been placed at the head of the table that dominated the space, Ahmose beside him. After a moment Ankhmahor slipped in and the council was complete.
Kamose looked them over slowly and they stared back at him solemnly. They, like the soldiers under them, had been changed by their months in the desert. Beneath the kohl and gems, the soft folds of their fine linen, their skin was darker, the whites of their eyes more startlingly pure in faces etched into fine lines by the dry winds. The small movements of the two servants setting food and drink before them were loud in the sudden hush. Kamose gathered in his resolve and lifted his wine cup. “You have created an army out of a rabble,” he said. “I am content. To victory!” They smiled and loosened, raising their own cups and drinking with him. There was a flurry of clinking plates and low murmurs as they began to eat.
For a while they exchanged news, spoke of the prowess of their divisions, bantered and laughed while the servants set down finger bowls and removed the scoured dishes, but at last Kamose dismissed the servers and held up a hand and an expectant silence fell. “Doubtless you wonder why I am here, and have not sent for you to join me at Het nefer Apu,” he began. “The reason is this. Prince Hor-Aha has proposed a scheme that would entice Apepa from his stronghold if it can be made to work. I require your thoughts.” He watched them as he went on to outline Hor-Aha’s plan, his own thoughts at variance with the words flowing easily from his mouth. Their attention flitted from him to the General sitting stolidly on his left hand and he could not mistake the coolness in their glances. They had not liked to be reminded that the black foreigner bore a title that gave him an equality with them. They would argue against anything Hor-Aha submitted.
But to his surprise Mesehti’s own mouth opened as soon as Kamose’s had closed. “This plan has merit,” he said. “None of us were looking forward to another frustrating season of siege. We have talked a great deal this winter of what could be done but could find no solution.” I would wager that you talked among yourselves and did not include Hor-Aha, Kamose silently surmised.
“And neither is this a solution,” Intef said sourly. “It is based on far too many suppositions. Suppose that Apepa greets the news of our presence in the oasis with delight instead of suspicion. Suppose that we can retreat in plenty of time instead of being caught in this forsaken hole. Suppose that his forces do arrive at Het nefer Apu in a state of fatigue instead of eagerness to engage. Suppose our combined army and marines can defeat what will be a superior enemy instead of being beaten back and having to regroup with heavy losses.” His tone had been sarcastic. “We cannot afford to take any risk, particularly one as foolish as this.” He sat back, looking smug. Makhu of Akhmin clasped his beringed fingers primly on the table.
“I also hesitate to consider such a rash plan,” he said. “But our alternatives are limited. In fact, my friends, we have only one. Siege. In all the months of fruitless discussion we have had, not one of us has put forward any idea worthy of serious dissection. Het-Uart is a fortress. We cannot take it by an open method. That much is certain.”
“We might as well petition Shu to lift us and fly us over its walls,” Iasen said gloomily. “So let us take Intef’s suppositions one by one and see if we may demolish them. How would Apepa greet the news of our presence here? With indifference, I think. He does not care where we are or what we do.”
“He would care if he was told our strength and the defencelessness of the oasis.” Mesehti spoke again. He was frowning and absently sweeping bread crumbs into little hills. “He believes that the five thousand men who wintered at Het nefer Apu comprise our whole army. What would he feel if he was told of the fifty-five thousand here? First astonishment, then alarm. Following that would be temptation. He is presented with an opportunity to take advantage of the stupidity of the Tao’s officers.” He turned to Kamose. “Forgive me, Majesty. I am attempting to enter Apepa’s mind. He will be anxious, wondering how long we intend to stay here, whether it would be better to wait and see if we move the troops to an even more defenceless position or risk a quick march across the desert to catch us here. He will consult his officers for advice.”
His officers, Kamose thought. Pezedkhu. A chill ran down his spine. Pezedkhu, whom he had last seen standing in his chariot while he, Hor-Aha and Si-Amun crouched behind a rock after the disastrous engagement at Qes. Pezedkhu’s words had rung out coldly, arrogantly, across the carnage. “… He is mighty. He is invincible. He is the Beloved of Set. Crawl home if you can and lick your wounds in shame and disgrace …” Kamose’s fingers went to the barely visible white line across his cheek, all that remained of the slash that had cut open his face.
“But could we withdraw our men into the desert until Apepa’s arrived and then sweep down on them?” he asked. “Could we keep our troops out there in that pitiless waste for days while we watched the oasis? It would be an even greater gamble than the one we want Apepa to take.” He shifted in his chair and forced his hand back to the table.
“No, Majesty, we could not,” Hor-Aha said definitely. “We must begin a retreat to Het nefer Apu as soon as our spies tell us that Apepa has left the Delta, arrive at the Nile in time to drink and rest, and then turn upon the other forces as they come east.”
“Why would Apepa commit his army in the first place?” Ankhmahor put in at last. He had been listening intently to the discussion, his eyes going from one speaker to another, his body relaxed and still. Now he straightened and leaned forward, reaching for the jug of water before him. The heat in the tent had thickened and all present were sweating lightly. “Why would his first presumption not be that this is a trap?”
“Someone must go to him and convince him that it is not,” Ahmose said slowly. “Someone he can be persuaded to trust. We must send a spy who will allow himself to be caught and who has the wit and subtlety to feign fear and confess the knowledge. A common soldier perhaps. A pretended deserter? Greedy for reward?”
“There would be no second chance,” Mesehti said. “If the spy failed and we waited in vain for any word, we would be losing valuable time. The campaign season would be passing swiftly and it is no mean feat to lead
fifty-five thousand men back to Het-Uart and then organize another siege.”
That word seemed to settle a pall of gloom over the assembly. For a while there was a silence broken only by the intermittent swish of Intef’s fly whisk and the soft conversation of the guards outside. Kamose was about to suggest that they disperse in order to think about what had been said until the morning, when a sharp challenge rang out beyond the tent and a familiar voice answered it. The flap was lifted and Ramose strode in. His short kilt clung damply to his dust-streaked thighs and his sandals left little pools of sand as he approached the gathering, went down on his knees, and kissed both of Kamose’s feet. “Forgive this sweat and filth, Majesty,” he said apologetically. “I received the summons and set off at once. I slept under my chariot and have not been to my tent to be washed.” Impulsively Kamose bent and gripped both the hot shoulders before him.
“I am very happy to see you again, Ramose,” he said. “Get up!” Ramose obeyed, scrambling to his feet and taking the cup of water Ankhmahor was holding out to him. Draining it, he saluted Ahmose, then sank onto an empty chair. He drew a battered scroll from his belt and handed it across the table.
“My soldier and I intercepted a Setiu herald heading south on the Ta-she track,” he said. “He was carrying this. He is being detained in the prison hut.” Amid the general murmur his announcement had prompted, Kamose took the scroll and unrolled it, reading swiftly. He looked up.
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