The Oasis

by Pauline Gedge

  “The man was on his way to Kush,” he said. “He was taking the desert paths, well away from the Nile.” He grinned. “This confirms our suspicion that Apepa believes our whole force to be centred at Het nefer Apu. The herald chose the route he did so as to avoid Paheri and the navy. Thank all the gods you were vigilant, Ramose, or both Kush and the Delta would soon have known of our strength here.”

  “Will you give us the news?” Ahmose urged. Kamose nodded.

  “The scroll says this. ‘Awoserra the Son of Ra, Apepa: Greetings to my son the ruler of Kush. Why do you act there as ruler without letting me know whether you see what Egypt has done to me, how its ruler Kamose has set upon me on my own soil though I have not attacked him? He has chosen to ruin these two lands, my land and yours, and he has already devastated them. Come north therefore. Be not timid. He is here in my vicinity. There is none who can stand against you in this part of Egypt. Behold I will give him no repose until you have arrived. And then we two shall divide up the towns of Egypt.’” A gale of laughter, part derision, part relief, shook the listeners when Kamose had finished.

  “What a boaster!” Mesehti chortled. ‘I will give him no repose.’ It is we who have given him no repose!”

  “‘Be not timid’?” Ahmose quoted. “The coward sits safely in Het-Uart while we take back what is ours almost without opposition and he dares to call Teti-En the Handsome timid? Timid? He has no Setiu blood in him, so how can he be timid?”

  “What do you think Teti-En would have done if the message had got through to him, Majesty?” Iasen wanted to know. “Apepa called him his son.”

  “He was just trying to ingratiate himself with the Prince of Kush,” Kamose replied. “Teti-En is no Setiu, as my brother said. He is a mystery, the Fallen One, an Egyptian who chose to leave Egypt and draw the Kushite tribes into one union under him, but he seems to have no interest in using them for conquest.” He paused, considering. “He has treaties with Apepa, but whether he would honour them, it is impossible to say. If he still thinks like an Egyptian, he would read Apepa’s appeal and then wait to see what might happen. After all, in order to bring warriors from Kush to the aid of Apepa, he would have to first march them through Wawat, and the Medjay hate the Kushites. After that he would enter Upper Egypt and immediately be in land under our control.”

  “Fortunately he has remained quiet so far, seeing that most of the men from the Medjay villages in Wawat are here with our army,” Ahmose pointed out. “No Kushite messenger has been intercepted at Weset. It might be as well to send to Tetisheri and warn her to tighten her watch on the river, although Weset does not have enough troops left to repel a concerted attack by the Kushites. We can only hope that in such an eventuality the remaining Medjay in Wawat and the soldiers still at Weset would be able to at least slow him down. The last thing we need is a battle front forming down there.”

  “I know,” Kamose admitted. “All we can do is trust that Teti-En’s inaction signifies an attitude of temporary neutrality. Remember that his capital in Kush is a very long way from Egypt. I think that he will only come north if his own little kingdom is directly threatened.”

  “I agree,” Ahmose said. “He will consider his own advantage first. What will you do now, Kamose?”

  “I am not sure.” Kamose rose and stretched. “But I am heartened by Apepa’s ignorance. I hope the majority of his officers and advisers are as stupid as he.” Ramose glanced around the company.

  “I see that I arrived too late for a strategy meeting, Majesty. Do we march for the Nile?” Kamose shook his head and gestured at Hor-Aha, and the General briskly summarized his proposal and the talk that had followed it. When he ceased speaking, Kamose bade them stand.

  “No more until tomorrow,” he said to them all. “Come back with a clearer vision of how this may be accomplished. Ramose, clean yourself up and join Ahmose and me for the evening meal.”

  The Princes bowed and quickly scattered. When the two brothers and Ramose were alone, Ramose asked quietly, “Majesty, how is my mother?” Kamose met his eye.

  “She is well but still keeps much to herself,” he answered honestly. “I do not think it is grief any longer, Ramose. It is anger because I did not let her die with Teti.” Ramose nodded.

  “She has always been strong-willed, like her cousin, your mother. I miss her.”

  Riding back to their tent, Kamose found himself suddenly exhausted. After handing the scroll to Ipi for copying and filing, he lay on his cot and was soon asleep and he did not wake until the long fingers of sunset crept across the carpeted floor.

  Washed, painted and freshly clad, Ramose joined Kamose and Ahmose as they ate beside the pool. Torches guttered orange in the spindled palm trees, their flames tossed in the pleasantly cool night breeze. Servants came and went, padding barefoot through the hillocks of sand, and the spasmodic laughter of unseen soldiers filled the air. High above in the velvet darkness of the sky the stars hung unblinking.

  Towards the end of the meal, when the wine flagon had been emptied and the three men were picking half-heartedly at the last platter of dates, Ahmose sat back with a sigh of satisfaction. “There is optimism in the air tonight,” he said. “You can hear it in the men’s voices. I feel it as a wind of change, a good omen. What do you think, Ramose? You’ve been very silent.” Ramose gave him a faint smile.

  “I am sorry, Highness,” he said. “I have indeed been thinking hard, but about the General’s plan. It is sound. It has only two flaws.”

  “How can Apepa truly be persuaded to leave his city and how can we ensure that his troops will be more fatigued than ours when they reach Het nefer Apu,” Kamose put in. Ramose nodded.

  “Exactly.” He hesitated, his gaze on the black burnish of the dates. Kamose saw his brows draw together in a frown and felt his own stomach tighten. I know what he is going to say, he thought to himself with cold certainty. It is so obvious and yet I shied away from it. Did Ahmose? He felt his brother’s glance and met it. Ahmose nodded once, an imperceptible assent. Ramose’s chin lifted. “I have no idea how the second objective can be achieved,” he said. “But I have a solution for the first. Send me to Apepa, Kamose. I am the perfect vehicle for your betrayal.”

  “Go on,” Kamose said tonelessly. His heartbeat had quickened. Ramose held up a finger.

  “There is Tani,” he began. “I am still in love with her and I ran away from you in order to see her again.” He extended another finger. “There is the execution of my father, a reason to turn my affection for you into hate.” A third finger rose to rest against the other two. “There is my inheritance, my estates at Khemmenu, gone to Meketra. If Apepa doesn’t know that, I will tell him. I will offer him all the information he wants in exchange for a meeting with Tani and the opportunity to fight with the Setiu against you.” He grimaced. “Perhaps I shall ask for Khemmenu to be returned to me for my loyalty.” In the silence that followed he looked from one to the other. “My words do not surprise you, do they?” he said softly. “My offer was already in your minds.” He turned urgently to Kamose. “Majesty, do not hesitate to use me, do not shrink because of our long friendship or in guilt over the destruction of my hopes. Apepa ruined them, not you, and my father was the cause of his own downfall.” Kamose studied the handsome, earnest face and felt an unaccustomed sadness well up in him. It was a gentle emotion, civilized and fraught with nostalgia.

  “You deserve to live the rest of your life in peace, Ramose,” he managed and the young man made a savage gesture and sat back.

  “So do you. It is pointless to kick against fate. To do so simply renders us less and less able to make sensible choices. It has to be me, Kamose. None of the Princes will do. With the exception of Ankhmahor and perhaps Mesehti they are too open to seduction once they leave your control. You cannot trust them completely.” He heaved himself to his feet and stood with both palms flat on the surface of the table. “You cannot send an ordinary officer. He would not have the subtlety of mind necessary to spar with Ape
pa and allay his suspicions. It has to be me.” But what is your motive? Kamose wondered. A loss of faith in your future? Revenge on Apepa? A genuine need to see Tani? Or is it a chance to flee from my presence? He shook himself mentally.

  “I am loath to do this,” he said. “I do not want your death or imprisonment on my conscience if something goes wrong. You have suffered enough at my hands.” Ramose’s eyes narrowed.

  “I made my choice years ago,” he retorted. “It is already the end of Mekhir, Majesty. Spring is advancing. You must decide.”

  “But first I must think.” Kamose rose and Ahmose with him. “Go and sleep, Ramose. We will talk again tomorrow.”

  When Ramose had gone, Kamose drew his brother away from the torches, and when they had reached the edge of the straggling palm grove and were alone with the immensity of the desert running away from them under the pale starlight, he lowered himself onto the sand and folded his legs. Ahmose sank down beside him. For a while they did not speak, allowing the deep stillness of their surroundings to enter them. Then Kamose said, “I cannot allow him to take the risk. It is too dangerous.” Ahmose did not answer at once but Kamose felt his slow appraisal.

  “I do not understand you, Kamose,” he said after a moment. “So far you have been ruthless in your disregard for anyone and anything that threatened to become an obstacle. The impregnability of Het-Uart has been driving you insane, yet when you are presented with an opportunity to achieve your goal, you suddenly develop a most uncharacteristic sensibility. Why?”

  “I thought it was our goal, not just mine,” Kamose said fiercely. “Don’t you understand that Ramose is a link with the past, with a kinder time, that when I look at him I am reminded not only of the pain I have caused but also of the man I used to be?” He struggled to suppress the rage that always lurked just below the surface of his composure. “If I can keep him alive, it will be as though I have somehow preserved what is best in Egypt, as though there is something innocent and precious left after all the killing and burning.” He passed a hand wearily over his eyes. “As though there is something left of myself.”

  “You cannot afford such self-indulgence now!” Ahmose protested. “Kamose! Not now! Where was it when we razed Dashlut? Murdered villagers as we sailed downstream? This plan is a good one. We can use it to kill soldiers, weaken Apepa, perhaps even drive him out of Egypt! Ramose knows this. If you need the presence of a living man to remind you of who you were, then you are in grave trouble!”

  A dozen cutting rejoinders rose to Kamose’s tongue, cruel words of wounding and self-justification, but with a mighty effort he bit them back. He was glad that Ahmose could not see the strain on his face in the dim light. He knew his brother was right, knew it with his head, but his heart cried out in denial. Ramose was Tani, was flinging throwing sticks at ducks in the marshes on lazy spring afternoons, was family gatherings in Teti’s garden at Khemmenu, he and Si-Amun and Ramose lying in the grass while the moths fluttered in and out of the glow of the lamps and the conversation of the adults was the lulling sound of security. “It is gone,” Ahmose said quietly as though he had seen the bright visions filling his brother’s mind. “All gone, Kamose. It can never come back. Let Ramose go too. We need him to do this. For Egypt’s sake.” Kamose clenched his fists in the cold sand.

  “Very well,” he grated. “But give me a coherent sequence of events, Ahmose. As things stand, it will not work.” Ahmose exhaled gustily and Kamose, in spite of his distress, recognized with fleeting amusement that it was a breath of relief.

  “It will not work if Ramose goes alone and contrives to have himself arrested,” Ahmose said. “What is he there for? To spy out the city? Perhaps? But neither you nor I would swallow such a reason and neither will Apepa. Spies can come and go in Het-Uart with ease when the city is not under siege. No. Ramose must go as an escort. You must dictate a letter to Apepa and have it carried to him by the messenger Ramose caught. Ramose goes to make sure the man delivers it safely. That way Ramose will eventually corroborate the information the man will give Apepa when he decides to turn renegade in exchange for a meeting with Tani. That way Ramose can walk right up to any Setiu guard on any gate and demand to be taken to the palace. He can begin his interview coolly, even with hostility, then begin to weaken. If we are lucky, Apepa might even offer Ramose inducements to betray us. Ramose will need to lie about nothing. He can tell the full truth.”

  Kamose stirred. “What will happen to him afterwards?”

  “We can only guess. Apepa will not keep him in the palace. I think he will either put him in prison or demand that he prove his new allegiance by taking up arms against us under the close watch of a Setiu officer.” He raised his shoulders and spread his hands in a gesture of bafflement. “Who can say? But you may be sure that Ramose understands fully what he is doing and still wants to do it. Let him, Kamose. He will willingly die afterwards providing he can have one more sight of Tani.” Something in Kamose responded with an icy cynicism. How touchingly naïve, it said mockingly. How sweetly romantic. Ramose clings to his fantasy like a child. But shame brought an equally swift refutation. No. Ramose has lost everything else. Only his love for my sister remains.

  “You can be pitilessly persuasive when you want to, Ahmose,” he said aloud. “You are right, of course. I will dictate to Apepa, taunt him, try to make him angry and defensive so that he must release his troops or lose face. I will send it with Ramose and the Setiu herald. Ramose had better take the track back to Het nefer Apu by chariot and then sail to the Delta. Two days to the Nile and probably four from there to Het-Uart. Six days. Allow three days for audiences, discussions and so on in the palace. Nine days. Another four or five for Apepa’s generals to bring his army to a state of readiness. Fourteen days. In ten days we must have scouts watching the mouth of the Delta and also the desert route at Ta-she. Amun help us if we miss the Setiu troops! As soon as we know they have left Ta-she, we march for Het nefer Apu, join Paheri and the navy, and wait to do battle. Are you satisfied?” He got up, brushing sand from his kilt.

  “Yes.” Ahmose joined him. “Kamose, do you think Apepa will unleash Pezedkhu on us?” There was anxiety in his voice. Kamose felt it brushing him also but he squared his shoulders.

  “Pezedkhu is the best military mind he has,” he replied grimly. “We have a grievous score to settle with the General. Let him come and, please Amun, let him perish under our arrows and swords. It is all a gamble, Ahmose. We can only throw the dice. Apepa and the gods must pick them up.”

  Back in their tent, bathed in the steady golden light of the lamp set on his table, Kamose paced while he dictated two letters. One was to Tetisheri telling her of Apepa’s plea to Teti-En and warning her not to relax her watch on the river. He included greetings to the rest of the family and a hope that Aahmes-nefertari’s pregnancy was proceeding normally. Next he addressed Apepa himself, beginning with difficulty but warming to the task as he recounted in vivid and derisive language every aggression he had perpetrated, every village burned, every garrison decimated. He spoke of the support he received from the Princes, those men who had taken everything Apepa had offered through the years and were now throwing it back in his face. He dwelt with genuine relish on the sacking of Apepa’s fort at Nag-ta-Hert and finished with the boast that it was only a matter of time before Het-Uart itself suffered the same fate. He insulted, belittled and jeered, ending the vitriolic outpouring with the words “Your heart is undone, base Setiu, who used to say ‘I am Lord, and there is none equal to me from Khmun and Pi-Hathor down to Het-Uart,’” and he signed himself “Mighty Bull, Beloved of Amun, Beloved of Ra, Lord of the Two Lands, Kamose Living For Ever.”

  Ahmose had been listening from his perch on his cot. As Ipi sealed the two papyri and Kamose drank thirstily from the water by the lamp, he said, “Will you tell the Princes about the letter, Kamose?” Kamose smiled across at him. He felt as though he had taken a heavy boulder that had been slung about his neck and hurled it at Apepa. He felt light an
d slightly giddy.

  “We are quite often in silent agreement, aren’t we, Ahmose?” he said. “No, I will not. It would only worry them. After so much direct and unforgivable abuse pouring into Apepa’s ears through the mouth of his scribe as he reads what I have sent, there would no longer be the slightest chance of pardon for them if Apepa proves victorious. I have implicated all of them. Ramose can take tomorrow to prepare for his journey and can be gone the following morning. They can know the rest, of course. Then you and I will explore this oasis while we wait for news from the scouts.” He swept up a cloak. “I’m very restless. I think I’ll walk for a while. Will you come?” Ahmose shook his head.

  “Sleep for me,” he said. “Take Ankhmahor. Don’t be alone, Kamose.” For the sake of my safety or my state of mind? Kamose wondered. He let the tent flap fall closed behind him and plunged into the night.

  At the meeting the next morning, Kamose told the assembled Princes that he had decided to approve Hor-Aha’s plan and that Ramose would be accompanying the Setiu soldier back to Het-Uart. He kept silent regarding the letter. He felt no guilt at withholding such information from them. He was King, under no obligation to speak to them of anything other than their orders unless he needed their advice. They gave him no argument, indeed, they seemed relieved that their long winter of idleness would soon be over.

  Later he summoned Ramose, gave him the scroll, and laid out his instructions. It was to be obvious that he was escorting the herald to make sure the man did not simply run away, either to Kush in an excess of duty to deliver Apepa’s message by word of mouth or back to his home, relinquishing all responsibility. “Once you are in the palace you will have to rely on your own discretion,” he told Ramose. “Ask to be allowed to see Tani before you leave, having fulfilled your duty as a herald. Then show some hesitation.” Kamose shrugged. “Any suggestions I may make are useless, Ramose. Lull Apepa’s suspicions, tell him everything you know, but lure him out of his city.”